Strawberry Fields
by Yo-yo
Summary: AU: Lorelei and Rory have been on the road for a year, running away from something they can't name. This is what happens when they finally settle down in a town called Star's Hallow, in a home called Strawberry Fields. Trory!
1. Hey Jude

Strawberry Fields -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls or any of their characters.

A/N: Ok, so basically, this is technically an AU. Rory and Lorelei are still basically the same characters, except Rory is a little more tomboyish- y (not a real word, but you get the idea). Rory has met her grandparents, but she hardly knows them, or Chris. Lorelei still has issues with her mother, and more so considering what her life has been like since Rory was born in this fic. They are just moving into Star's Hallow, and the estate where they live on- formerly The Crap Shack- is now called Strawberry Fields.

Jess has already moved in with Luke, and Luke is still a little infatuated with Rachel. Lorelei currently doesn't have a job considering she just move in two chapters from now. Uh, I'm not sure what I'm going to do about Dean yet, so you'll just have to stay tuned. Basically, all the chapters will be named after Beatle songs, hence, Hey Jude.

Well, I think that's it for now, and if you've got anymore questions, just keep asking.

ULTIMATE ROWING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!TRISTAN AND JESS ARE SO HOT!!!!!!!!!!!

Hey Jude:

We're on the road again. Whoo hoo (she says sarcastically)!

It wouldn't be so bad if we hadn't moved FIVE times in one year! It's like she was trying to break some kind of record or something. Each time a new school, new friends, new apartment, new job and totally new town. Each time, only a few months spent before she'd burst into our diminutive apartment and gave me that look oO (Yeah, that one!). And simultaneously we'd say:

'I'm tired of this damn place, let's get the hell out!'

In a matter of days, we'd have packed up the U-Haul, settled our affairs and headed back on the interstate towards another foreign town.

I should be mad at her, I guess, my being a teenager and all. I should be upset that I had to leave my friends, family, school and everything that I knew. I should be upset, livid that I haven't even had time to get settled before she kidnapped me towards another unknown destiny. I should be angry that every time we left a place, it was as if we never existed; we never even stayed long enough to make an impression. She dragged me down to Hicksville, USA- all FIVE friggin' chapters- but I can't.

I mean, ya' can't stay mad at her. You can try. You can definitely try! Like when she's been in your room and you find your diary opened to a particularly incriminating page. Or when you ask to go out with the guys and she won't let you because she doesn't know those 'guys.' Or even when she asks you to clean the dishes. But then she does something so insignificant and sweet- like making you a cup of coffee before school or buying you a blanket with monkeys so you could use it on the road- and you can't help but love her again.

I think I even understand her. It must be lonely loosing something that has been so close to you for so long. It must be hell to have everything remind you, and not at the same time. It must be miserable waking up in the middle of the night to cry and having no shoulder there to lean on. It must be depressing as hell entering a house where nothing was the same as before, and knowing that there's no way it'll ever be.

And to tell you the truth, I feel the loneliness too.

She and I are a lot alike. When I was little, He used to say that God accidentally sent down her carbon-copy instead of mine. I used to correct Him by saying God didn't make mistakes,

He'd laugh.

But this time would be different, she promised.

When things got hard, we'd deal instead of run. We'd make friends with the people there, and they'd remember us always. We'd be there for each other; this time will be different.

Where we're going, it used to be her parents. They let her have it.

Now she'd be somewhere where she knew someone; somewhere that was familiar. She said when she was younger, she used to live there during the summers.

She said it's beautiful and that I might like it there. She said the best memories of her youth were spent climbing one of the many trees in the back yard, swimming in the creek and catching a tan with her best friends during the summer, Rachel and Mary Beth.

She kept trying to rationalize the move by saying it'd be good for me to get away from the pollution and fast paced world. She says it'd be good for me to get away from the myriads of angry people and all the dangerousness. She said we'd be protected now,

We'd have a home now.

I never corrected her, but I knew she was talking about herself.

She did that a lot when we moved. Sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night as we sped away from the city lights and she'd be arguing with herself.

Of course she was angry. She had a right to be. She kept mumbling it was for my safety and her own sanity. She was so angry, so disappointed, so . . . detached. I could tell that she wanted to talk to me, but she couldn't find the words.

She was scared, I could tell. Everything was falling to pieces and she didn't know how to save it. That was one of the qualities that I'd gotten from her. I like to be in control and when I'm not, I get afraid. I get reckless and I get mean.

And that quality was what got me into trouble. . .

. . . Ok, enough about that.

So now it's January, midterms are over, and we're on our way towards a place she calls, Strawberry Fields. . .

-Rory

TBC. . .

A/N: Hey, I hope you like this chapter. R&R please. And tell me what you really think.


	2. All the Lonely People

Strawberry Fields -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

(Eleanor Rigby) All the Lonely People:

Have you ever seen something so beautiful, so breathtaking that you wished you could scoop it up in between your hands and set it in a glass jar like a firefly? Something so amazing that you wonder if the beauty captured by your eyes is even real, or just a mirage the Gods sent to play with mortal minds?

I have. . .

When?

Last night and this morning . . .

As I was getting ready to take a shower in the motel room, the most beautiful sight caught my gaze . . . it was Lorelei . . . she was asleep.

It wasn't the fact that she was asleep that was beautiful-

What was beautiful was her face. It wasn't etched with frown wrinkles so deep in her countenance that it looked as if she were born that way. It wasn't pale with worry, doused in distress. It wasn't hallowed with grief or stricken with pain.

For the first time in a year, she looked peaceful . . . almost happy.

I couldn't remember her ever being so beautiful in my life. Her long, black curls were splayed across the pillow, making her look like the saints on the Catholic Church stained windows w/ the halos. Her eyes were closed. When they were open, her eyes were the most intense shade of sapphire with specks of gold glittering in them. Only- they haven't glittered in awhile. Her lips were laid in a straight line, twitching as if they wanted to smile, but wouldn't let themselves give in.

I don't remember exactly what happened, all I remembered was that I was lying beside her, gazing into her serene visage, and wondering how in the hell we were going to get through this?

I remember slowly reaching out my hand and pushing a long, chocolate strand away from her milky skin, sprinkled with fading freckles. She looked so young at that moment, as if she'd been protected from the dangers of life. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, I laid my head on her chest and fell asleep.

And now here I sit, just as dawn's rosy fingers begin to peek over horizon, wondering if this beauty was meant to be captured, or merely be admired as one of the simplest miracles of the world.

Have you ever seen how beautiful America is?

I don't mean in the whole purple mountains majesty and fruited plains. I'm talking about how wheat sweeps across the floor in the Midwest. How the Appalachian mountains close in on you, making you feel alone... yet cradled. How Alaska glows when the sun rises and leaves a blue tint on everything it touches, especially the snow. Or how the desert spans out before you, like life, directing you in its turns, but never revealing where it was taking you next.

I've never seen that before.

I've never seen natural beauty.

It took me behind the wheel of our Jeep to realize just how beautiful the world can be.

I'll spare you the platitudes and just say, sometimes, beauty could be found in all the lonely people.

TBC . . .

A/N: Hey, I know, this is weird, but don't worry, actually dialogue starts in the next chapter.


	3. Yesterday

Strawberry Fields -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C crappie #1.

Yesterday:

Thursday morning we rolled into Star's Hallow. It was one of those candy- sweet places; a brain-child of some WB writer. One of those, 7th Heaven towns where everyone gets along and something cute _ALWAYS _happens. A place where no one can act, and every teen has a problem that requires a whole hour at eight o'clock eastern to discuss and then solve by the end of the show, unless it's a particularly "major" dilemma, then you'd have to make it a two-parter. It was one of those towns where you'd pray someone would kidnap David Gallagher and either dye his eyebrows blond or his hair black.

There was one streetlight.

It was situated in front of a place with two totally different signs: William's Hardware and Luke's. From the curtains and the patrons entering and exiting the building, I'm guessing it's officially the latter.

Five minutes from Luke's, she pulled into a driveway and cut off the engine.

"That was your first official tour of Star's Hallow," she smiled turning to me.

"That was it?!"

"Hey, Small-town USA likes to stay trim and petite. It requires no embellishment."

"Well, someone should force-feed it a couple of cheeseburgers and maybe pretty it up with a music shop."

"But honey, that would be moving FORWARD in time. This is Hicksville, USA, technically, that's witchcraft!"

"Obviously," I groaned, flicking the classic mailbox with "Gilmore" affixed to either side.

"I'm hungry."

"When aren't you ever?"

"What did you say?"

"Lore, we haven't even unpacked the U-Haul. Hell, we haven't even called Emily."

"Well, we'll give Emily a call when we're done, and unpack later. But right now I need food- or are you prepared to take another rendition of 'Mandy.'"

"So, where to?" I asked. Her last rendition still gave me nightmares about a girl named Mandy and her lover, the Mullet.

"I don't know, it'll be like an adventure, like in 'The Hobbit!' You'll be Bilbo, you don't like adventures, but I'll be Gandalf, and I'll make you go. You think, hey, they forgot about me! But we didn't and then-"

"Where did you put that book? It is officially confiscated."

"You're mean! You always try to take away my simple pleasures!"

"Whatever," I groaned, grabbing her arm and dragging her down one of the many fruit named streets. In five minutes we ended up in the middle of town, where a sappy, gazebo stood. There was a Doosey's Market, Luke's Diner, Al's Pancake World, Pete's Pizza, Ms. Patty's Dance Studio, the Post Office, etc . . .

"Where to?" I repeated.

"I feel like a burger, how 'bout you?"

"I feel like a Chicago styled hotdog in Chicago!"

"Hardy har har, you're a regular Mo'Nique."

"That's it! I'm impounding the TV, no more 'Parkers' for you!"

"But Toni's gunna' get proposed to on 'Girlfriends' by the short white guy-"

"I think Luke's has burgers," I interjected.

". . . And on 'One on One', Brianna's gunna' fail the PSATs and will be deemed and idiot!"

"She probably learned it from you." I murmured.

"What?"

"I said, Man I'm hungry, how 'bout you?"

Entering Luke's diner, all eyes swiveled towards us.

"Small town, I guess we're the newest thing since the printing press?" she muttered in my ear.

"Or the compass." I answered back.

We both laughed as we took seats at the counter, where a young man was wiping it down.

"What can I get you?" he asked, looking up at us.

"Two of the largest coffees that you sell, double cheeseburgers and large fries."

"Coming up," he said turning around and speaking through the kitchen window to the cook.

He was actually pretty cute. He wasn't one of those corn fed white boys that everyone expects living in Small-town, USA. His dark brown eyes where chocolate kissed, with a few flecks of gold. He had dark brown hair that curled over his ears. He had one of those rebel-without-a- cause looks that girls usually feel for. But he had this nonchalance about him that wasn't an act. He was wearing a Metallica shirt and I could just imagine "Sleep with one eye open" playing in his wake.

"Hey, I'm Jess." He said, returning. "Are you the guys that moved into the Gilmore place?"

Everyone was craning their necks to hear.

"Yeah, I'm Lorelei and this is my daughter, Rory."

"Hi," I smiled politely, returning my eyes to the counter's smooth surface.

I'm anti-social. Really! Ok, the truth, I'm shy as hell!

A large Latin woman wearing fuchsia- which Lore and I mercilessly mocked later that night- accosted us.

"Hello, I'm Ms. Patty-"

"Of Ms. Patty's Dance Studio?" Lore implored animatedly.

"Yes," she purred, with a smile as wide as the Cheshire cat's. "And aren't you darling. Do you dance? You look like a dancer."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Lore smiled politely. "God did not give me dancing hips. Instead, he burdened me with these damn, North American narrow, white women hips. I tried to teach Rory, here, the Salsa, and all I could accomplish was forming an angry bruise on my ass!"

"Lorelei!" I admonished, giving her a stern look.

"Sorry, MOTHER!" she retorted.

"Oh, I don't mind," Ms. Patty grinned disarmingly. "You two are just darling, where is your husband?"

I saw Lorelei's face falter. They'd never actually married, but He was more of a father to me that anyone that I'd ever known.

"Married to that damn Jennifer Aniston," she recovered quickly, a fake smile on her face. "So, I remember this place when I was younger, it used to be a hardware store."

"Yeah, well after Luke's father died, he decided to convert it into a diner. He was always talented in the kitchen, and this endeavor proved more lucrative in the end."

"Hmm," she said turning to me. "I remember a Luke. He was sort of a geek. He watched Star Trek."

"Really?" Jess interrupted; a greedy look in his eyes.

"Yeah."

"Well, because Luke's my Uncle-"

"Luke's your Uncle?" Lorelei thought. "Then you must be Liz's boy?"

"You know my mother?"

"We used to hang when I was younger."

"What's your name again?" he asked suspiciously.

"Gilmore."

"Luke!" Jess's voice rang throughout the diner.

"What?" a large, burly man dressed in flannel asked, entering from behind a curtain.

I couldn't really see the resemblance in the two guys, except for the brown hair. Luke had this whole "I'm a football player" look to him, without the dim look in his eyes and the slurring of a couple million lost brain cells. He wore a backwards baseball cap on his head, and a heavy five o'clock shadow was blooming on his face. He looked gruff and firm, but his blue eyes contradicted him, showing the big softy underneath the thick hide.

"Do you know a Lorelei Gilmore?"

He looked heavenly-ward in contemplation. After a few moments he looked down, wiping his hands with a dishtowel and said,

"Yeah. She used to come here during the summer with her family. She stopped coming a while ago. I think, the year your mother left."

"Liz would leave," Lorelei snorted, grabbing the attention of everyone, including Luke.

"You knew Liz?" he asked, scrutinizing her.

"Yeah, I knew you too."

"Lorelei?"

"Yeah." She grinned.

I liked the way she grinned. She hadn't grinned like that in a long time. It was one of those smiles that started in her lips and enlivened her whole face, eventually settling in her eyes. It was one of those smiles that made her seem years younger, bringing forth a childlike innocence and pure energy that used to consume her. It was one of those smiles that made you forget about everything bad that had ever happened to you because you knew, nothing would ever be as beautiful as that smile. Nothing would ever make the hurt go away like that smile.

Sometimes I wish I could go back to those yesterdays when she could smile like that all the time.

"God," he reciprocated the grin, turning round the counter to envelop her in a hug. "I haven't seen you since you were like . . ."

"Fifteen!" she smiled, pulling away.

Everyone else watched the exchange. Some had knowing smiles on their faces, others seemed totally enraptured, and others were pensive.

"What happened? We were expecting you that summer!"

"She happened." She said turning to pull me towards him. "I got pregnant. Luke Danes, I'd like you to meet my illegitimate daughter, no offense kid-"

"None taken-"

"I'd like you to meet my daughter, Lorelei Leigh Gilmore, known more affectionately as Rory."

"Nice to meet you Mr. Danes." I smiled offering my hand.

I had noticed the way his eyes opened wide, totally shocked with the new developments. But that didn't stop him from taking my hand and pulling me into a warm bear hug.

"Any kid of Lorelei Gilmore is a friend of mine. Call me Luke."

"Thanks," I smiled, sitting back on the stool.

"So . . . who . . .?" he asked, looking at Lore.

"Chris. You remember, Christopher Hayden? He used to hang around a lot?"

"Yeah, I remember," he said, lifting his cap and running his hand through his hair.

"Now, tell me how big of a nerd he was!" Jess insisted.

"Jess!"

"He's Liz's?"

"Yeah, she had him at nineteen."

"Well then he's the same age as Rory here," she grinned, doing the math in her head.

"Tell me." He groaned, "Or I won't give you your food!"

Her eyes opened wide, almost assaulting everyone with their intensity.

"Blasphemy!" she screeched. Then she turned to Luke. "Luke, you can't let him do that! You can't let him- ok. He was sort of a nerdy meathead-"

"Lorelei!"

"He threatened to not give me coffee, I must comply with the terrorist's wishes!" she argued, then turned back to Jess. "And he had this totally 'Fatal Attraction' crush on my friend Rachel. He was all, 'hey Rachel, your pink sweater was so pretty yesterday.' And 'hey Rachel, I'll spit shine your leather boots and scuff them with my butt if you'll only breathe my way.'"

"Really?" he asked turning to Luke. "You were really that into Rachel then?"

"He was such a dork."

"That's it, you're not getting anything to eat!" Luke intruded.

"Mom," I groaned, "My tummy hurts! How could you offend the man with the coffee and the burgers?"

"Don't worry Rory, I won't deny you food. You aren't responsible for her self-destructive behavior."

"Thank you." I grinned just as Luke put a plate of burgers and fries in front of me.

"But Luke," Lorelei whined. "How could you deny me of life sustaining coffee?"

"You still have that addiction? Well, coffee will eventually kill you and so will that junk, so you should be thanking me."

"For what, living a little and not getting some pesky thing like pre-mature death or obescity get in the way of the lifestyle to which I'm accustomed? You let Rory have some," she pouted. "C'mon Luke, you've known me longer than Rory, for all you know she could be a drug dealer waiting to start pushing in your establishment. She'll corrupt your nephew and turn Star's Hallow into the murder capital of the country."

"Rory, do you sell drugs?" Luke cast me a glance.

I shrugged. "Only on the side, I make most of my money from prostitution."

"Well then it's settled, Lorelei, your daughter needs that stuff for energy. She works all day, it's nourishment for her. For you, coffee is just a-"

"C'mon Luke, I'll give you a dollar?"

"Lorelei, you have to pay for the meal anyways."

"But Luke, Rory's the devil!"

"Who cares, she's young, she can fix the damage done by this crap, but you're old-"

"RUN FOR COVER!!!!!!!!!!!" I screamed, grabbing my plate and running towards another table in the back of the diner.

TBC . . .

A/N: well, hoped you liked that chapter. I know, it seemed totally different than the other chapters, but I guess Rory's a little more cynical than usual, especially when you read the next chapter. She's spunky, but later you'll learn why.


	4. Tomorrow Never Knows

Strawberry Fields -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

A/N: Hey, sorry for taking so long, but what can I say, I'm a procrastinator. I still haven't sent out any college applications, so shoot me! Well, I hope you like this chapter, I do. W/ luv, Yo-yo

Tomorrow Never Knows:

I've only met Emily few times in my life, and each time, it's been an experience.

But when she came to my tenth birthday, it changed my life. I started to understand why we moved around so much. I also realized from then on what an impact she's had on my life.

According to Lorelei, your tenth birthday was among the most important. It was your double digit year. When you finally had reached the age where you would only use two digits, unless you were a freak and hit a hundred.

We were living in New York at the time. He was living with us also. Every night someone was having an argument in the street- usually more entertaining than ER- with half their neighbors (including us) craning their necks outside their apartments to watch with rapture, and sometimes add in their two cents. He and Lore held me this grand party on the fifth floor of our apartment building where everyone was invited . . . including the Grandparents whom she didn't think would show up.

Lorelei's parties were epic.

When Emily and Richard set foot on the fifth floor, they were hit with everything that was Lorelei. "Barbie Girl" blasted from an undetectable boom box. People sang and danced around the floor with drinks varying from water to soda to wine coolers to vodka.

I remember she came in with Richard and both of them looked appalled. Their attires screamed of money and impeccable grooming. They looked like walking advertisements for boarding schools, nannies and Charity Fundraisers. Their jewelry sparkled in the distorted lighting, their clothes stiffly starched in the smoky light.

As soon as they set foot into our opened apartment door, everyone could spot the look of terror consuming their faces.

There we were in our dilapidated apartment building. There was a gay couple with a black kid to our left and a transsexual in fishnets living on our right. Maybe it was the stereotypes that spurned their discomfort, or the Goth with the lethal spikes and white out contacts, or the old lady in only her underwear (support hose and all). But Emily and Richard in their properly pressed suits and golden jewelry certainly seemed to be the oddballs.

Within five minutes they'd discarded my presents on the overflowing table and left.

From then on I remember scalding phone calls asking what I was up to. I remember phones messages accusing her of being an unfit mother. I remember threats of calling DCFS (Department of Children and Family Services) and taking me away from them. I remember being told she was a bad influence. I remember Lore warning me against picking up the phone when the Caller ID read Connecticut.

We moved away soon after. I think they were running away . . . He said his job transferred Him.

* * *

After lunch at Luke's, we went back to Strawberry Fields and waited for Emily and Richard to arrive.

From the steps of the house, I could already feel the warmth that would soon be radiating from inside. Winter nights we would sit by the fire, downing junk food and discussing our equally sucky days. Spring days we'd be running from room to room stealing one another's clothes, trying to figure out something to wear. Summer we'd stretch out on the couch in front of the AC, every once in awhile kicking one another in annoyance because one of our limbs got to close to the other. And autumn we'd dance outside under the falling leaves, jumping into huge piles and singing turkey songs at the top of our lungs . . .

Considering we stay long enough.

When the black Mercedes pulled into our gravel driveway, I was reminded again of my tenth birthday: golden buttons, silk tie.

"You're tall?" the first thing I ever remember Emily actually directing to me.

"Yes," I mumbled, not what I was expecting.

"Richard, she's tall." She repeated to her husband.

"Yes, I see." He smiled, his bow tie making me smile. "How tall are you, Rory?"

"Five eight," I replied, thinking how absurd this conversation was beginning.

"Lorelei, you're daughter's tall." Emily repeated a third time.

"Yea, now she can make out with Kobe Bryant." Lorelei quipped.

They didn't get it.

"Lorelei, you can be so vulgar." Emily turned up her nose and she turned back to me, "Oh dear, there's not enough time to get you refitted. You're just going to have to make do."

"What are you talking about, Mother?" Lorelei asked, watching Emily.

"I was comparing her to your size at this age," Emily scowled. "I bet it's that damn Hayden blood. They always had growth spurts at around this time. Damn Christopher for doing this. Now she's going to look like a harlet in her Chilton uniform!"

"Chilton!?" Lorelei gasped.

I racked my brain trying to remember the name, knowing that I'd heard it before.

"Yes, Chilton."

Suddenly, Lore's eyes were blazing as she glared at Emily.

"We went over this a million times mother! I don't want her going to that school! The children there- the environment isn't good for anyone and I don't want her to end up like me. Rory is a smart kid and doesn't-"

"You both want her to go to Harvard, don't you? Well, the only way that's going to happen is if she's accepted into one of the best Prep schools in the country. Rory is smart, but Star's Hallow High isn't going to prepare her for the rigors of college. I did the research, Lorelei. Most of the kids in Star's Hallow High score in the average percentile in standardized tests. Chilton has a ninety percent above average percentile rate. Most of their students, if not all, get accepted into the best Ivy League Universities in the country. Three students who graduated last year got accepted into Oxford. Oxford, Lorelei, in England! Rory would do well there."

"But I don't want Rory in that world."

"You may not want her in my world, in what used to be your world," Emily whispered, "But if you want the kind of life for her that you both have been striving for, then Chilton will be your best ally."

"And how are we supposed to pay for this?" Lorelei asked, clearly perturbed.

"We'll discuss that at home, away from these gawking eavesdroppers," she groaned, showing us to the car door.

The entire town watched as Lorelei and I entered the sleek, breathtaking automobile and were whisked away to an unknown destination. It was like a wedding caravan, I could even picture the cans dragging behind the car and the cheap pasteboard with the words: Just Married printed crudely on the back.

The entire half an hour drive to Hartford was dusted in powered sugar. It twinkled in the sunlight, gently winking and smiling as if introducing us to our new life. Everywhere we looked it was sprinkled, beautifying everything it touched. It was like King Midas's golden touch, only its effect could be admired by the whole world, instead of one greedy man.

When we'd first arrived in Connect-I-Cut (that was the way I learned to spell it in second grade), Lore immediately began spewing a few selected words, upset she'd missed the first snow. Why, I don't get it. It was friggin' January; you'd think that it would have snowed in December. Hell, November even! But then again, we've never missed the first snow. We always sat outside from wherever we were living and watched the first drops of feather light flakes swirl down to the ground before they disintegrated into nothing.

Emily and Richard's house was huge.

A mansion.

They had servants and everything.

Before we could even settle anything we were summoned to dinner.

"Tuition," were the first words out of Lorelei's mouth.

"Well," Emily began. "I know you don't have a job yet, so I was thinking, Richard and I would help you along, and eventually, when you could, you would pay us back."

"And what are the strings?"

"Strings?" a question appeared on her face.

"The strings that are attached. Like the N'Stync song. What do we give you in return?"

"You."

"What?"

"In return we'd like to have a weekly dinner with both of you. Friday nights preferably. That way your weekends wouldn't be intervened, and we'd get to see Rory more than once a decade."

"Oh, I don't know . . ." Lorelei muttered, "I think that's a little too often, it might interfere with her schoolwork, how about once a century?"

"Ha ha." Richard groaned at her branch of humor before taking a sip of his wine. "Rory how was the trip?"

"It was great," I smiled. "Lore and I-"

"Why do you call her by her given name? She's your mother Rory; I really think it's disrespectful to call her by her Christian name."

"Sorry, Em- Grandma, I guess I'll have to remember that."

Lorelei caught my eye and made a funny face before sticking out her tongue and returning her attention back to her mother.

* * *

I pressed my head against the cool, translucent plane. A small, almost inaudible sigh escaped my lips as I watched the tall, cold stony buildings pass behind my peripheral vision.

I was tired.

Tired of sitting in the car, driving towards places I'd never seen and until previously, never knew existed. I was tired of meeting new people and having to pretend I was something I wasn't. I was tired of all the apprehensive looks I'd received from anyone who'd never seen me before. I was tired of trying to move further away from the only place I'd ever called home.

Tired of watching the melted snowflakes run rivers over the window and distorting my view, I closed my eyes and let my mind swim from reality.

And now here I sit, with someone I barely knew, driving towards my new school, Chilton Academy.

Slowly parting the large oak doors, I sighed.

I didn't want to be here, with her especially, but Lore had to attend Strawberry Fields with Richard. So, I was stuck with Emily.

Advancing towards the office, I took in my surroundings. Everything about this place screamed money; from the rich wooden accents, to the large glass chandeliers, and the beautiful Elizabethan furniture, the word poverty seemed a foreign language.

I had been to schools like this, and had never liked them. The way that everyone pranced around, like automatons, never showing an ounce of human emotion. Rather, they built walls around themselves, afraid to get hurt, but out to hurt others. I hated the types of people that plagued these places, that thrived in these places. They are like bacteria, they multiply and conquer. Conquering the minds of those they deem lesser, making them think in order to be accepted, they must live in their world... they must become one of them. I hated their gated world, where no one was allowed to be themselves, and everyone was afraid of everyone else. I hated pretending as if I liked them; hated pretending as if I wanted to belong. But as Lore had put it the night before:

"Chilton Academy is a very prestigious institution. I went there myself, and let me tell you, that was where I picked up my worst personality traits!"

Walking through the glass doors of the office, we immediately went to the receptionist.

"Are you Mrs. Gilmore?" she asked expectantly.

According to Emily, because Lorelei and I had moved so profusely for the past year, Chilton was more than apprehensive about letting me in. After much harassing, Emily finally wore them down enough so they would at least give me a chance. If I passed the equivalency test, I'd be admitted into Chilton. If not, they'd set me back a grade which both Lorelei and Emily agreed would be unsatisfactory, and I would be put in another school.

So here I am, dressed in jeans and a sweater, going to take a test that could dictate the rest of my life. If I pass, I go to Harvard. If not . . . Tomorrow never knows . . .

TBC . . .

P. A/N: WOW!!!!!!!! And I mean, WOW! I haven't updated this story, since like . . . forever! And sadly, this is one of my favorite. It's kind of different then anything I've ever written, I think. I'm a little crazy right now (I'm on a sugar high) so I might be wrong. I'm sorry this has taken so long to get up, but Please R&R, that only makes Yo-yo a happy camper; you know how beneficial that can be. o o

W/ luv, Yo-yo

P.S. and don't worry, I think Tristan will either be in the next chapter, or the one after that. And that's a promise!


	5. Penny Lane

Strawberry Fields -By Yo-yo

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

A/N: As you can tell by the name of this chapter, Lane is in attendance at Chilton. Also, I'm more familiar with Catholic schools, so if something I talk about doesn't sound right, I'm sorry, but all my life I've been in Catholic school- since second grade (and I'm not even Catholic!). So, don't harp on my ignorance. Otherwise, hope you like this one and no, Lane isn't rich. She's middle-class. Meaning, she can afford to go, but that doesn't mean she lives in a fifty bedroom house with heated pools and secret passages.

Penny Lane:

"This is it?"

"I guess."

"I don't remember it looking so-"

"Off with their heads?"

"Exactly."

"Well, that was yesterday, hun. They probably built a new wing last night just to intimidate you."

"Thanks," I groaned rolling my eyes.

For what seemed like eternity we sat inside the wary Jeep, our eyes glued to the massive building towering over us, seemingly denying our entrance.

It didn't look like this yesterday. It wasn't so gothic looking, so imposing. Yesterday it didn't look as if it belonged in J.K. Rowling's next installment of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (so what if I'm fifteen and still read the books . . . they're good!). Yesterday it didn't look as thought ghosts frequently passed through the walls and that there should be torches lit everywhere. It didn't look as thought the staircases moved and those impressive paintings on the walls could speak. But today-

"I'll bet you twenty bucks that Nearly Headless Nick went here!" Lorelei said; an impish grin on her face.

"I'll GIVE you twenty bucks if you take me away from here." I turned to her.

She stared at me for a moment as if scrutinizing me. I watched her back. I saw the way her eyebrow twitched a little; it did that often, as she seemed to peer into my pleading eyes.

"Please Mom, I don't like it here. These people, they talk about caviar and trips to the Hamptons. I've never been to Europe, I've never skied in Aspen, and I've never spent the week in Martha's Vineyard. I don't care about Harvard, anymore. Just take me away from here, please. I'll go to Star's Hallow High. I'll go to Connecticut State. I'll be a teacher . . . whatever; I just don't want to be here. I'm not like them."

"Rory-" she sighed, pushing a strand of hair from my face and fingering a curl at the end of my braid.

According to Emily, every girl should go to her first day of school with braids. Hence the two plaits down the side of my head with little ribbons at the ends- they're going to think I'm the biggest dork in the world.

"Oh honey," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Take me away, please," a tear slipped from my eyes. "You've done it before. You've done it a million times! Just please, take me anywhere but here. Anywhere-"

"I thought you said you- we were going to try? I thought you wanted this?"

"I do, just in a place where people won't hate you before they even know you. I want to go somewhere where I'm not an outsider. I don't want to be here. Please take me away," I pleaded.

"Rory, it's not that easy," she frowned, wiping the tear from my cheek. "We both need the stability. I know that it seems that no one here knows you and will understand you, but that's not true. You're going to make friends. And you're going to learn to love this place. I had fun here, no matter how much I try to hide it, I still think back on this place and smile-"

"Well then you don't look back on it too often, I haven't seen you smile in a year."

"What did you say, sweetie?" she asked.

I'd barely whispered it, not even knowing I'd done so. But I hadn't regretted those words, although she'd never heard them. Instead of answering her, I wiped my eyes and gave her a sad smile.

"Twenty dollars, Ms. Gilmore, please?"

"I'm sorry Miss Gilmore; I'm just going to have to refuse your offer."

Turning from her I looked out my passenger seat window and watched the hundreds of society-bred teenagers, clad in their starched uniforms that their maids had pressed, walk away from their expensive cars into the imposing building.

For the second time in two days I sighed as I parted the large oak doors. Only this time I didn't feel its weight pressing down on my chest, trying to force me in the opposite direction- away from this place. This time, I had Lorelei with me. This time I felt as if someone were protecting me, guiding me.

Watching as the Chilton student body maneuvered around me, barely registering my presence, it didn't seem to touch me. We were walking amongst a crowd of people, everyone with their set destination, and me with my own. Lorelei was my support, my backbone. With her behind me, I felt as if I could do anything.

Pulling on my short blue plaid skirt, I sighed again._This school uniform bites!_

When we'd tried on the uniform last night, Lorelei quipped, "Well if you're gunna' have to wear one, at least Britney Spears it up!"

Hence the short, short skirt.

Walking through the glass doors of the office, I immediately went to the receptionist.

"Are you Rory Gilmore?" she asked expectantly.

"Yes." I smiled pulling on my skirt again.

The receptionist smiled knowingly, "Don't worry, you'll get used to it." Turning she retrieved a manila folder, "Meanwhile, this is your class schedule for the semester, your student ID, your locker number and combination, school sponsored planner, pencil case, pencil, and your honorary honors patch, to be placed on your uniform as soon as possible. If you need more patches, request them. That's everything; if you have any other questions, don't be afraid to ask anyone in the building. I'm sure that you'll soon find the Chilton family to be welcoming!" she smiled concluding her speech.

"Thanks." I sighed AGAIN, taking the manila folder.

Turning on my heel, we made our way towards my locker, easily found from the school's methodical numbering system.

* * *

". . . Shakespeare's character development is the story is spectacular! I mean, how could, like, this old, ugly British guy capture the teenage boy so accurately! It reminds me of, like, when-" 

I heard through the door. Then,

"Miss Armand, thank you," a man I guessed was Mr. Medina interjected. "So anyone else, how did you feel about this 'Great Tragedy'?"

Just as a mousy boy was raising his hand I stepped into classroom number eighteen, and everyone's eyes swiveled to meet me.

"Ah, Ms. Lorelei Gilmore. We've been expecting you for a week now," he smiled good-naturedly.

I didn't say anything, instead I looked outside the window, watching as Lorelei climbed back into the Jeep, abandonment chilling my veins and making me want to cry.

"Lorelei Gilmore," he called to me.

I felt like a kindergartner. It was that day all over again. The day she finally left me there... alone with people I've never met before. How was I suppose to talk to them... I had taken her seriously, and Stranger Danger was not something to mess around with. Children everywhere get snatched up... and she abandons me.

"Rory," I corrected him.

"Excuse me?"

"Everyone calls me Rory."

"But the name on the roster reads Lorelei-?"

"Which is also my mother's name." He looked up at me expectantly, "Long story involving not enough drugs and her ultimate hatred of the male sex during childbirth."

He chuckled softly, the corners of his eyes wrinkling handsomely, "I'll bet."

"Can you tell the class a little about yourself, Rory?"

"I'd rather not," I replied, not coldly . . . politely.

"Well then, may I ask you a question?"

I yearned to reply back, you already did. I yearned to smile at him the way he smiled at me. I yearned to be carefree, to be something like I once was. But those times- when simple things were easy, when everything made sense- were long gone. Now, those anecdotes were hallow, empty shells of what used to be and can never. Now my laughs and giggles meant nothing, but were rather niceties, a facade put on to show people that I wasn't affected, that I could forget . . . that I could move on.

"Yes?"

"So, we've just concluded 'Romeo and Juliet' and I was told you've already read it?"

"I have," I answered.

"Then Miss Gilmore, can you give us your thoughts on this 'remarkable' piece of literature?"

Looking down at my scoffed Nomads, I tried to assemble a response. Sure I'd read it, every high school teacher in the world has probably taught that one. But I'd also thought it was all hype. Everyone gallivanting around as if it was amazing, and all I wanted to do was puke from its cuteness.

Sensing my anxiety, Mr. Medina tried to coax me.

"C'mon, we'd like to know how you felt. Good or bad, we'd like your opinion."

"Well, I have nothing good to say about that play."

"Why?"

"Because, they weren't in love," I answered, "they were infatuated with one another. No self- respecting anyone should get married after only sight! Two minutes ago she'd just learned his name, and a minute before that he was in love with Rosaline and was trying to get her to give up her virtue because of his stupid Cavalier attitude. Frankly, I think they were both idiots and deserved to finish one another off. Stupid people like that shouldn't even be allowed to live!" I concluded.

"That was a pretty passionate answer," Mr. Medina smiled, amused.

"We lived in California for awhile . . . I've grown irritated by stupid people!"

"Well, I can't wait to hear more from you in my class," he smiled.

"Thank you," I nodded my head and turned to find a seat.

The only empty seats that I found were behind an Asian girl. She had beautiful jet black hair that hung in lazy waves over her shoulders. Her sparkling brown eyes were shielded by stylish black spectacles and the lapels of her sports jacket were covered in little tin buttons of what I guessed were her favorite bands.

Just as I placed my bag over the back of the seat and had sat down, the door to the classroom banged open and a boy with disheveled hair, swollen lips and a flaming red hickey on his neck entered quite haphazardly.

"Oh Mr. DuGrey, how nice of you to join us today."

"My dog died Mr. Medina; I was grieving for him, that's why I was late."

"And what's your dog's name?" Mr. Medina asked curtly.

"Uh . . . Jeeves."

"Well then tell Jeeves to stop making out with you when the bell rings because you keep getting put in detention on his account. That's the third time this week."

"We weren't making-"

"I passed you and Miss Terlington on my way to class this morning. I'm pretty sure her name isn't Jeeves, and I'm pretty sure it was she who did that to your hair and gave you those beautiful hickies."

"What?" he groaned trying to look at his neck.

"Find your seat, Mr. DuGrey," Mr. Medina sighed, turning away from him and looking into his grade book.

"There are no more seats, Mr. Medina," he smirked.

"Well then maybe you should just stand up for the rest of the period since you can't seem to make it here on time. Maybe that will teach you to come in before the bloodshed occurs over the better seats."

"Mr. Medina."

"You're also allowed to use one of the comfiest pieces of floor to sit. I've heard that Doris the cleaning lady is out with a cold, so beware the dust bunnies."

"I'll stand." he rolled his eyes.

"Good choice Mr. DuGrey. And, Miss Gilmore, Miss Kim will be showing you around the school for the next couple of days."

The Asian girl turned around and gave me a smile, as if indicating that she's my guide.

After class, Miss Kim (whom I still hadn't learned a first name to) gathered her books and turned to me.

"Hi," she smiled, sticking out her hand, "I'm Lane Kim, everyone here calls me Penny Lane, like the Beatles song. What was your name again, I forgot?"

"I'm Rory Gilmore," I answered taking her hand and pumping it.

She was one of those girls that guys spent countless hours trying to decipher if she were pretty or not. She was beautiful, don't get me wrong. It was only that her simple, exotic beauty had to compete with the glamourous, fake-bake Arian goddesses that seemed to inhabit every corner of this place.

Coming behind her were three other girls; two blonde and one dark brown.

"These are Paris Gellar, class Valedictorian; Louise Grant, school slut-"

"Hey," the taller blonde reproached.

"- and this is Madeline Lynn."

"Nice to meet you," Madeline smiled, taking my hand.

"Well, we've got to get to class; we'll see you guys at lunch."

"Sure," the other three chorused, a puckered look on the shorter blonde's face.

TBC . . .

P. A/N: No Trory action going on yet, but don't worry, they'll actually acknowledge one another next chapter. Not a very eventful chapter, but it got you guys to see how insecure Rory is, even though she doesn't show it much. Also, it sort of gives you a look as to how she and Lorelei have been getting on all their lives. And for that person who asked who He is, it will come up later, so don't worry. I hope you liked this next installment, R&R PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!

w/ Luv, Yo-yo


	6. Here, There and Everywhere

Strawberry Fields -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

Here, There and Everywhere:

"So, we've checked your file," were the first words Paris ever said to me as she pushed her tray onto the table.

"Aren't those confidential?" I asked, watching her as Madeline and Louise sat beside her, opposite to Lane and me.

"Minor technicality," Madeline waved off the statement like an irksome bug.

"You're smart," Louise continued, "although quite fluttery. Four schools, five states, and you currently live in Star's Hallow."

"Where's that?" Madeline asked.

"It's that hick town between Hartford and Riverdale Mall," Paris explained.

"Ohhh."

"Yeah, so what's up with that? Before then you've moved around a lot too. You've lived in twenty five states. Trying to take over the US, are you?" Louise continued.

"No, my mom gets moved around a lot," I frowned.

"You're Emily and Richard's granddaughter, aren't you?"

"Yes."

I felt like I was being tortured; like they were holding my head underwater, trying to get their answers. The only problem was I kept forgetting to take a breath when they raised my head, so my esophagus was burning oxygen deprivation.

"So that means you're Lorelei's daughter." Paris stated.

"How do you know Lorelei?"

"Everyone knows about Lorelei," Louise cooed. "And we're very sorry too. What Christopher did to her and what happened because of it- It was the talk of the town at that time."

"What are you talking about?"

"Lorelei getting knocked up at sixteen. After she ran away, her story became a little legend here in Hartford. In fact, when my nanny gave me 'the talk,' she used your mother as an example of what could go wrong."

"So that's why you're a whore? You hope that by getting pregnant you won't have to admit to your Mom that you flunked today's test? Can I tell you that having unprotected sex with truckers isn't the best way to go... I hear that syphillis is an annoying little thing to get rid of... and truckers won't be able to supply the life to which you've become accustomed." I narrowed my eyes in confrontation.

"Guys, c'mon," Lane groaned. "She hasn't done anything to you yet, so just retract your claws. You don't want her to start spilling the rumors about you guys."

"She hasn't been here long enough to know any rumors," Madeline grinned.

"I'll tell her everything I know," Lane challenged, her dark brown eyes glittering.

"Bitch," Louise groaned, sitting back in her seat.

We sat in silence for a few moments, Lane eating her egg salad, me taking bites of my Pop-tart, Madeline picking at her yogurt, Louise making eyes at some guy across the lunchroom and Paris deeply engrossed in a schoolbook.

Then suddenly, a group of boys came up to the table and surrounded us. A few of them I had recognized from class. And one of them, who seemed to be the leader, was that DuGrey boy, the one with the hickies.

"Bonjour Mademoiselles," he smirked, bowing to our group.

"It's after noon, its bonsoir." Paris mumbled, her eyes not lifting from the pages of her Physics book.

"Well thank you," he answered, not even acknowledging his mistake.

"Whatever, what do you want?"

"Me, want anything? I'm appalled. All I wanted to do was spend some time with the most beautiful creatures at Chilton, and Paris here accuses me of an ulterior motive!" he gasped as if utterly offended.

"What do you want?" Lane asked as he plopped down at the seat beside me, a huge smirk on his face.

"I just wanted to know who was this angel you've been escorting around our humble halls?" he answered, his voice bathing in suave.

"Tristan DuGrey, this is Rory Gilmore. Rory Gilmore, this is the king of Chilton himself, Tristan DuGrey."

He took my hand, and tried to place a kiss to my knuckles. But just before his lips reached my skin I retracted my hand, not wanting to be that girl that fell for his tricks.

He smirked when I removed my hand.

"Can you please not flirt with every girl in a skirt?" Paris looked up, her face twisted in disgust.

Tristan turned to her, cockiness marring his features with a smirk. He leaned over the table, taking a blonde blonde curl in his fingers and said:

"I don't flirt with you, and you wear a skirt . . . jealous?"

It had been as if she'd become intoxicated in him. Her eyes had glazed over and a look I'd only seen on Lorelei's face when she thought of him, settled onto Paris's face. But when his words finally registered in her brain, the stardust was gone, replaced with red anger and embarressment.

"No I'm not jealous," she snapped as he casually returned to his prior position. "It's just that you're tired lines make me want to become bulimic!"

"Maybe you should," he smirked, "I heard eating disorders were in?"

"Get a life, Tristan," Paris spat before gathering her things and retreating from the table swiftly; Madeline and Louise scurrying behind her.

"I am, Paris, I am," he called after her, the jerk.

In seriously less than a second, his blue eyes were on me again, making my spine tingle in annoyance.

"So, Rory, huh . . . Isn't that a boy's name?" A guy behind Tristan asked.

"It's short for Lorelei," I replied going back to my Pop-tart, intent on ignoring them as Lane had already done.

"Well, welcome to Chilton, Rory. These are Jason Greene, Daniel Andopolis, Jeremy Winters and Austin Cavalry."

I didn't even bother to nod in recognition; I just wondered how I got here. They swarmed around like bees- here, there and everywhere- like an epidemic. They all looked alike. They all looked as if they belonged in the Playboy mansion. They all had the same tousled, arranged hair; they had shared that lewd glitter in their contacts; they all had that familiar curl in their lips and leering curve in their backs. 

They reminded me of and Andy Warhol, the same image, just different colors.

"Guys, I believe we have a Mary," he smirked winking at me as he rose from his seat.

The other four jumped from their seats and left . . . I had completely forgotten the Mary comment.

TBC . . .

A/N: how did you guys like this one. I know the chapter's short, but that's what I like about this story. This is the only story I have w/ chapters less than five pages long.


	7. Hold Me Tight

Strawberry Fields -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

Hold Me Tight:

Everything that I ever remember about my life has always been related to scent.

The first memory I have of Lorelei and I was of us sitting on the bed to our cramped apartment with a cookie sheet between us. I remember the smell of burnt chocolate chip cookies- a failed attempt on my part. We were sitting there- a gauze bandage on my arm- both of us hungrily trying to salvage the un-burnt morsels.

The first time I remember us moving, our apartment smelled of fear. The once clean air that used to fill my lungs was thick and stale. It tasted bitter on my tongue as we hastily packed to rented U-Haul- my legs buckling under the mass of toys in my arms- tears in my eyes.

When we'd first met Him, I remember the smell of coffee; everything good has always smelled of coffee.

Lore and I were sitting in a café; I was four. It was after school and she was helping me to learn my spelling list and the bonus words.

I could feel His eyes on us and I didn't like it. The way that He looked at her was different that now other guys had looked at her. It wasn't leering; it wasn't intent and scary. Instead, amusement glittered in His big brown eyes.

When He'd moved into our apartment, it smelled like strawberries. The night before an aerosol spray had exploded coating everything with its sweet scent.

Later, it smelled of lilies.

They inhabited every corner of the apartment, stuffed into ever nook and cranny. The smell was almost putrid as it filled my lungs threatening to suffocate me. It kept reminding me of the casket . . . of how it disappeared beneath the ground with a garland of lilies on top- they were His favorite.

I still throw up to the smell of lilies.

Whiston smelled like cigarette smoke. It was think and unclear. I was glad to be leaving, but sad to be leaving- if you understand what I mean.

Chilton smells of money: old, musty, dirty and crumpled beneath your fingers. It was cold and unfeeling as it swallowed you in its allure, tainting you with its fear.

* * *

"Hey Ror," Lane called when she reached my locker, "I have to do something, it'll only take me a minute, so do you thing you can get to class alright?"

"Maybe, if you tell me where it is?"

"Well, I don't know . . . the directions are sort of complicated?" she mused with a smile.

"Try me. I couldn't have gotten into this school on my looks alone."

"Straight down this hall, third door on the right." She said with a grin.

"I think I can manage that." I smiled, pushing my English book back into my locker.

"I knew you were a smart cookie. Thanks, I'll see ya' there."

"Yeah." I sighed, watching her retreat.

I liked Lane.

During some of our classes together I learned that our music collections complimented one another. She'd told me about all the contraband she'd stashed in her room and how she'd made her own meditation room out of her closet. I learned that she spent most of her homework time trying to construct clever ways of getting out of the house during her Mom's Wednesday Bible Study. She also told me about her mother's obsession with her marrying a successful Korean doctor. We had a lot in common, and just as much not in common.

I think maybe she might be my first friend here.

I was pondering the optimistic, impish sprite called Lane Kim and not watching where I was going when I suddenly found myself sprawled on the floor with golden Three-D puzzle pieces scattered around me and a very peeved Paris.

Before I could even stammer out an apology she was screaming at me:

". . . Why don't you watch where you're going? Do you know how long it took me to reconstruct this model of the Sphinx? I don't care how easy the television makes this project look, it took a hell of a long time and I don't need some Winona Ryder wannabe from Hicksville, USA coming and 'Girl, Interrupting' my project!"

Standing up, my eyes were still wide as saucers as I apologized profusely, ways running through my head on how to correct my mistake when suddenly the bell rang.

"Paris, I'm . . ."

"Damnit! Now on top of me not having my project done I'm late! Save your apologies for Bloomindales!" she called dashing into the same room I was heading.

As soon as I entered the room, the first words I heard were:

"Miss Gilmore, contrary to popular belief, Chilton does not tolerate chronic tardiness. And unless you want my first impression of you to be a negative one, I advise you to give me the explanation to your late arrival."

"There was an accident in the hallway. I wasn't watching where I was going."

Mrs. Lee nodded her head as if she believed me and like every other teacher had today, introduced me to the class.

"Everyone, I'd like you to meet Miss Lorelei Gilmore. She has just moved here from Whiston, Colorado and will be spending the rest of her high school experience in Chilton. Everyone say hello."

For many of them, this was already the fifth time they'd been told to say hello to me, so all I got was a half-hearted hello from few kids and couple of nods.

"I was told that Miss Kim was to be escorting you-"

"Here I am," Lane called rushing into the classroom bearing a fuchsia Post- it.

Taking the note from Lane, she read it and nodded her head.

"You may sit down."

We both found seats in the middle near Madeline and Louise.

"Miss Gilmore, currently our class is exploring the continent of Africa. We are in Egypt and will be hearing a presentation on the Sphinx by Paris Gellar."

She nodded to Paris who stood up and lowered her eyes.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Lee, but I do not have my project."

"Miss Gellar, this is very unlike you . . ." Mrs. Lee began before I interjected.

"It was my fault!" I shouted standing up from my seat.

"No it wasn't," Paris groaned turning to me with a reproachful scowl.

"Yes it is. I wasn't watching where I was going, and I bumped into her project on my way here! I do that sometimes . . . the not paying attention to where I'm going, not the bumping into people's projects part. I'm sorry. I'll help her re-do it, I'm really sorry." I babbled.

"She's lying," Paris shook her head and looked back at the teacher. "I was up last night trying to finish the project after putting it off for too long, and I fell asleep without completing it."

"Turn it in tomorrow Miss Gellar," Mrs. Lee nodded, and then turned to me. "Miss Gilmore, it was Miss Gellar's responsibility to do her project, we don't need Good Samaritans to try to cover over other people's mistakes."

I nodded, and looked at Paris's back, wondering why she wouldn't accept my help.

"Oh, and Miss Gellar, for the assignment being late I'm taking off five points."

I could literally see Paris flinching at the thought of five points off.

"You may sit down," she said for the second time today.

Later, during Mrs. Lee's lecture on the history of Egypt, I passed a note to Paris, but she just crumpled it beneath her fingers and dropped it to the floor.

* * *

"Mini me!" she called through the throngs of students making their way to their flashy, expensive cars.

"Mommy," I cried dropping my book bag on the ground and rushing to her, wrapping my arms tightly around her neck.

"How was school?"

"Boring, full of pretentious people who think they're better than me. It's cold, and the immaculate and sterile and really hard and I want to go home."

"I'm sorry baby," she smoothed down my hair and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"This place was like Hell, if I could ever personify it."

"Well that's a perfect name for it. Why don't we bequeath to it the name of Hell?"

"I think we will," I turned around and dubbed the institution of Chilton, Hell

When I turned back to her, a sad smile graced her lips.

"You remind me of the day I left."

"Just . . . hold me tight," I groaned pulling her back into my arms and breathing in the scent of her hair . . .

Lilies . . .

My first day at Chilton smelled of lilies.

TBC . . .

A/N: Hoped you liked this one, I certainly did. Paris is a great character, and I liked writing her in this story. Sorry no Trory action in this chapter . . . I don't think there will be much in the next chapter if he's even there. I'm sorry, but I don't want much to happen between the two until they actually move into Strawberry Fields, so I'm hoping in the chapter after next we see some Trory action.


	8. Run For Your Life

Strawberry Fields -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

Run for your life:

"Are you okay?" she leaned over me, pressing a kiss to my temple.

I felt the blood recede into the rest of my body; the panic I had felt before glides from my being.

"Yeah," I nodded sitting up from the soft bed.

Whatever had possessed Emily to decorate this room in such a manner should be exorcised. The walls were pink (who the hell came up with that as a girls' color anyway?) with sunflowers in every corner. The walls were drowned in framed posters of the effeminate Justin Timbercake who were winking down at me with their one earring and glossed lips. Behind 'him' stood the other four glorified back-up singers- also known as NSux- sending me high fructose corn syrupy smiles.

I had been lying in a bed of roses, literally. The tiny pastel pink and red petals embroidered on the bedspread were so cute and girly that I almost wished I HAD wretched my Pop-tarts on them.

There was a doll house off to the side; the biggest enigma of all. It was beautiful and spotless. It looked as if it were put together by tweezers . . . cold and sterile. It looked untouched; as if the destitute worker in China didn't even get a chance to run his fingers over his handiwork- FEEL his own creation.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into my ear, brushing my hair from my face. "I forgot. I just found some perfume and didn't even think. I'm sorry, babe."

"It's not your fault, I know you're secretly trying to sabotage me and take over my life as the vivacious, exotic French model with the one name: Rory. You're trying to steal the unfulfilling life of strange men in my bed, the lunches of cigarettes and champagne and the accidental pregnancies and antibiotic treatments. You should really get over that." I smiled standing up, and ruffling back my hair.

"Curses, foiled again," she frowned, lying back on my bed, her dark hair fanning out like a halo, contrasting sharply against her alabaster skin.

"I'm going to brush my teeth and start to tackle the mammoth mound deemed my homework."

A few hours later, I heard her skipping to my door, and stopping abruptly.

"Hey babe, what 'cha doin'?"

"Homework."

She leaned over me as I typed methodically on my laptop. Her perfume smelled great- rain and vanilla- causing me to lift my eyes from the illuminated screen and sniff her neck.

"You smell good . . ."

"Thank you," she smiled, looking into the screen. "What homework are we doing here?"

"English."

"They give you homework on hotmail . . . to a Greantowjam? Hey, isn't that-"

"Yea," I groaned whirling around, "I'm typing an e-mail to Jane, Imani and Trip."

"Aren't you going to finish your homework, it is your first day?"

"Don't worry," I groaned, finally looking up at her. "I was looking for- you look good!"

Her ebony hair was pulled away from her face in gentle curls, with hardly noticeable highlights winding around her head. She was wearing a blue ruffled blouse, a short black skirt and strappy black pumps. Her makeup was done and she was wearing my sheer lip gloss.

"Thank you. And you could look good too, with Selsun Blue!" she replied as if selling the product.

"Are you implying that I've got dandruff?"

"Whoever said it dealt it."

"Well, I'm not going to say that I've seen those lovely snowflakes on your not so Head and Shoulder shoulders."

"Wait, how did this conversation turn to whose got dandruff?"

"You made a lame joke."

"Blasphemy!" she gasped, placing her hand on her heart, "Gilmore's do not make lame jokes."

"Well, you've obviously broken the mould because you just did."

"Well, you've got to get ready; your grandparents are expecting you for dinner."

"Tell them I can't come, I have to finish my homework."

"I can't, they've invited someone for us to meet. They want to show off their impressive granddaughter, the daughter they should have had.The daughter the Gilmore's were destined to have."

"Lore, that's not it." I groaned, wrapping my arms around her. "I'm not all that great and both they and you know it."

"Hey, don't try to make me feel better, I'm not upset that they care about you and that they love you. It's just that this place in your life that you're starting from... this is where mine ended. I never got to be here, in this place wher you're at. It's weird, like living my life twice. I'm not going to hate myself for the person that I am. Hell, half of my life I spent trying to be the total opposite of what they wanted- that's how I got you!"

" But you gave birth to exactly what you were trying to escape. I'm sorry."

I didn't look at her at that moment. Sometimes she made me so mad. It was as if she hated my existance, as if I were wrong. And she never knew she could do that to me. Just by her neutral words she could reduce me to nothing. She never really wanted me, only what I stood for. I was a symbol of her freedom, and she only accepted my physical signal because there was no alternative.

"Dinner starts in twenty minutes, I'll meet you at your door then, and we'll go downstairs together."

I nodded and watched her retreat from the room reminding myself that she didn't understand, that she didn't know what she was doing, or she'd stop.

_All is forgiven. _

* * *

"Lorelei . . . Rory . . ." Emily impatiently called from downstairs.

I rolled my eyes as I opened the door and found Lore on the other side, rolling her own eyes.

"Can she be any more subtle?" She linked our arms.

"She could use a fog horn," I shrugged.

"You look good," she said out of the blue, then, "hey, isn't that my Charlotte Rousse dress? The one that I love more than you?"

"No, this is the one that you bought me so I wouldn't wear yours and stretch it out with my huge boobs!"

"Yeah, your hooters are pretty big!"

"You sound like Al from 'Step by Step'."

"Well, ya' know- 'Step by step, day by day, first comes over a different handed days, I don't know the words, to this song, so don't let me sing it anymore!'" she concluded her solo.

"We've got to hand the TV over to the movers; I don't want you watching it anymore."

We descended down the staircase in that regal fashion of ours. I gently pulled on the red floral dress I was wearing, still imaging it was the Chilton skirt. My hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail and I had stolen back my sheer gloss and that's the only make-up I wore.

"Nice of you to finally show up," Emily frowned when we finally reached her.

"Dinner smells great Mom," Lore lied. "Will Dad be joining us?"

"Yes," she smiled. "He's in the study right now, if you'd like to join him, Rory."

"No thanks," I replied settling onto the Victorian settee, crossing my legs elegantly.

"So Rory," she smiled deliriously. She looked like a teenager in love, with no cares in the world, "how was your first day at Chilton?"

"Great." I lied.

"Well, what happened?"

"I met my escort's friends, and I hated them. Uh, I accidentally ruined Paris Gellar's Global Studies project, and now she hates me. And everyone thinks I'm a dork because I wore pigtails."

"Paris Gellar," she frowned, "her mother is in DAR with me. I would really like it if you two got along. She's a very determined young lady, a little intense, but very much focused on what she wants to do in life. So, who else did you meet?"

"Uh-"

"Rory, please stop saying 'uh', it makes you sound very uneducated."

"Yes."

"Well, go on, answer my question."

"I met Lane Kim, who I really liked a lot."

"She's from a respectable family, although a little below our class, go on." She urged.

"Madeline Lynn."

"A little ditzy, great family. She's a very nice young lady."

It was a little disconcerting how she knew everyone I was talking about. It's like she went scouting for my friends, deciding who was good enough and who couldn't pass the test.

"Louise Grant."

"Sultry, but very bright. Her mother and I have had many conversations about our youth today, and she agrees with me whole- heartedly."

"Nice to know . . . Are you going to do that to everyone?"

"What do you mean?"

"Cut them down to pieces at the mention of their names? How do you know so much about them anyway? Do you know everyone in Chilton?"

"Most of their parents are in the PTA, as should you be Lorelei." She sent a glare to her.

"But Mom," she began after her long silence, which could be attributed to the Scotch in her hands. "Doesn't PTA imply that you have an offspring attending Chilton?"

"Yes."

"And how long have you been on the PTA, because not only do you not have a son or daughter attending Chilton, but Rory just started today, so unless you signed up this morning, which I doubt you did, you've totally broken all that was sacred about the PTA." She frowned.

I held back a giggle and turned away from the look on Lorelei's face.

"Lorelei, be serious, I've been on that board since you were attending Chilton, and-"

Her tirade was interrupted by the ringing of the front bell.

Suddenly, she jumped up from her seat and a brilliant smile lit up her face. In a second she'd dashed out of the sitting room into the foyer, leaving both Lore and I to gape at her sudden giddiness.

"Was that my Mom?"

"Was that my Grandma?"

"She acted like a twenty-year-old about to get some!"

"Mom, eww! I don't want to think about my Grandmother getting some!"

The voices in the foyer were getting closer. There was the girlishly delighted voice of Emily and the deeper, anxious voice of someone I knew . . .

Standing on the arm of Emily Gilmore was a tall, young man. His brown eyes twinkled as they rested on Lore and I on the settee. His wavy brown hair was the color of mine, coffee. He was slim and debonair with an arrogant, but boyish air around him, wrapping everything in its warmth . . . and then he spoke to us.

"Hi Lorelei . . . Rory, I've missed you too."

And suddenly, I knew who it was.

"Christopher!" we both breathed at the same time.

Christopher, my father.

And all I could think was . . . Run for Your Life . . .

TBC . . .

A/N: Hoped you guys liked this. I know it's taken a while for me to get this out, but I'm trying. Also, I believe I'll have the next chapter to Torn out by next week, but don't cross your fingers; I'm still not sure what I'm doing with it yet. Oh, and there will be Trory action next chapter! Yay for you and Yay for Me!


	9. If I Needed Someone

Strawberry Fields -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

Chapter 9- If I Needed Someone:

Clink, clink, clink . . .

The silverware scraped noisily against the expensive china, marring its once flawless surface. Little silver slices left their marks as I knifed through my steak, trying to make as little noise as possible. It reminded me of the way life used to have been, when life was perfect, like china. The way life had been before the knives had blemished the surface, tainting everything in what used to be perfect.

But unlike life, Emily had maids who could wash away the silver slices from the dishes. With the swipe of the sponge, what was once defaced was perfect again . . . no record of past abuse.

But I can't . . . neither can she.

"So Ror, I heard you started Chilton today?" he asked, looking up from his steak. "How did you enjoy it?"

"Peachy keen."

I didn't look up as I answered him, I don't ever remember looking at him.

He cleared his throat anxiously and asked,

"So, you're taller than I remember-"

"That's exactly what I told Richard when we saw her," Emily exclaimed while putting down her knife.

"That's because you guys haven't seen me in five years. Puberty's a bitch that way!" I said before putting the piece of broccoli in my mouth.

The clinking stopped, and my chewing pierced the still air.

If I had looked up, I bet it would have been a funny sight to behold; the Gilmore's aghast expressions, Christopher's red tinged cheeks, and the amused twinkle of Lorelei's eyes. But instead, my thoughts were turned to the broccoli sitting in my mouth. I was wondering why I was eating the one vegetable I abhor more than learning about mitosis. I was wondering what brought the vegetable into my mouth, and then Emily spoke.

"Rory, that was vulgar."

"The truth can sometimes be that way." I replied, my eyes still on my plate.

"It wasn't my fault that I hadn't seen my only granddaughter in years. I'm sorry that your mother and that- that MAN of hers whisked you away without giving us notice or any idea where they were taking you!" Emily snapped, rising from her seat.

"I wasn't the one threatening to take her away from her mother!" Lorelei cried, throwing her napkin on the table.

"You weren't being her mother! You were being an irresponsible teenager! You were raising her in a nasty world!"

"Well guess what, Mom, the world is nasty! And I rather her know about it than to have to grow up in this stuffy cocoon and realize when she can't handle it that she's screwed over!"

"You can't even speak like an adult!"

"And you don't act like one! My life was perfect. I had friends, parents who loved me and a life that kids would kill for! You took that away from me! It was your fault!" I yelled, the anger boiling in my veins.

They had no right to attack my mom!

Emily's eyes flashed fury as her head whipped around to face me.

"So, you're blaming me for that MAN's death? It's now my fault that He got himself killed? I've met that MAN twice! And it's my fault that He got himself blown up?!"

Before another word could escape her lips, I jumped up from my seat and dashed out of the house.

Through the open door I could still hear her voice ejaculating,

"Is it my fault that you got in trouble too? Is it my fault that you got kicked out of that school! That's the perfect life that I ruined for you?!"

She had no right . . . no right!

The tears tumbled down my cheeks, assembling at my chin and dropped down to my dress.

The night air was freezing, but I couldn't feel it. I could see the snow sprinkling against the pavement, each snowflake sticking to the light bed of sleeping flakes. I could see the trees swaying in the wind, the snow being pushed off the spindly branches, falling around me in a lazy dance. I could see the icicles dropping from the corners of the large mansions, from the bottoms of the luxury cars, from the street signs. But I couldn't feel the cold air on my body, prodding my arms, wrapping around my legs, reddening my nose and giving me Goosebumps.

All I could feel was the anger Emily erupted in me, the hate she awaken in my veins, the utter contempt she filled in my heart!

I ran blindly through the Hartford streets. Blindly because this was my second full day and the only place I knew was Chilton.

. . . Chilton, the one place that I detested just a little less than Emily's (which I still hated) . . . the place that I'd just earlier deemed Hell, was now my haven.

Star's Hallow was too far away and I didn't have bus money anyway (then again, I didn't know how to take the bus there anyway). The only other place I knew was Chilton . . . God, I hate being the new kid!

I rounded the corners, groaning as my feet accidentally touched the snow. I wrapped my arms around myself as I trudged down the streets, through a town I could barely spot on a map, even if it's in big bold letters because it's the capital.

Finally, the gothic architecture of Chilton materialized before me, and breath escaped my lips.

She didn't have to say it like that. She didn't understand our life, the way we lived and how I grew up. All she knew was that Lorelei ran away from home and shacked up with some guy. All she knew was that Lore and Christopher weren't together and I was a bastard. All she knew was that . . . was that . . . nothing. She didn't know anything about me . . . she didn't know anything about how I grew up.

I stumbled into the impotent fountain, the snow soaking the back of my dress, but my senses had numbed. All I could feel was the searing pain of her words and the tears streaming down my cheeks.

My emotions erupted.

Emily didn't know about my fear of lightening. She didn't know about the night He sat up with me- my night light on- whispering to me the African folktale of Thunder and Lightening. She didn't know about the days when He'd pick me up from first grade on His bicycle and pedal His way to our matchbox apartment. She didn't know about the times I spent huddled in their bed, listening to their breaths on my cheek and basking in the feel of their arms wrapped around me. She didn't know about the time He taught me to whistle . . . about the time He showed me-

"Hey, are you ok?"

I started, my eyes jerked to the person whose hand lay tenderly on my shoulder.

When our eyes collided, I felt the earth abandon me, leaving me in a pit of despair and embarrassment.

"You're the new kid, right?" Tristan asked me and I huddled beneath him in my now soaked red dress, crying my eyes out.

"Are you ok?" he asked again when I didn't reply.

When my brain finally registered what was going on, I jumped from my seat on the freezing mosaic tile, away from him.

"Are you ok?" he repeated, holding his hands out as if showing me he was unarmed.

"Leave me alone." I whispered.

If I needed someone, it wouldn't be him. I didn't want some stupid Chilton kid with the same ideals as Emily to whisper that everything was alright and rub my back. I'd had enough of that . . . I didn't need another apathetic sigh of fake sympathy.

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you ok. If you need some help, just ask for it." he recited, his voice lacking the sympathy I knew he had no possession of.

"I didn't ask for your help," I whispered, backing away from him and pushing my tangled hair from my face. "So leave . . . me . . . ALONE!" I screamed, still stumbling away from him.

He dropped the large athletic bag from his arm and took a few steps closer to me. His blue eyes searched mine for something that I was not going to give him. His pale lips uttered words I couldn't hear.

"What's your name?"

"Fuck off!" I yelled at him, faltering back a few more steps before I hit the ledge of the fountain and fell backwards.

In moments he was at my side, his knees dug into the cold snow and concrete as he kneeled beside me, his face projecting apprehension.

My eyes clenched shut as I finally felt the pain needle it's way from my spine up my back. I could feel the cold prickle at my skin, and a fire erupt in my veins from the injury. I could feel the intense aching of my muscles, and the protest of my body . . . but most of all I could feel his fingers on my skin, brushing my hair from my face.

"Are you ok?" he breathed, his face so close to mine I could feel his breath on my face.

I didn't answer him as I grit my teeth from the pain.

"Can you sit up?"

His fingers clenched around my shoulder as the other found my hip. Slowly and carefully he helped me to sit up, propping me against the fountain wall.

"What's your real name?"

My fingers found the tender spot where the concrete had slapped against my back and I screamed in pain.

His eyes opened widely as he watched the tears erupt from my eyelids, and the strangled scream emit from my windpipe.

"We should get you to a hospital."

"Leave me alone," I breathed, my voice coming out in short gasps as the fire fueled in my lower back.

"I'm not going to leave you here alone. You're hurt; you need to go to the doctor."

"I need to get away from here," I breathed, my eyes clenching shut again.

"You're Gilmore, right?" he asked. "I heard the name floating around school lately. You're Lorelei's kid, aren't you? I don't remember your first name."

I didn't frown or get upset. I was used to not being remembered, but for some reason, I wanted to be remembered . . . at least by him.

But I didn't say anything. The white hot pain was searing through me . . . I didn't need him to know my name.

I opened my eyes again. He was sitting before me with an amazing look in his eyes. They were opened wide, so that even in the darkness of the night, they shone brightly against his pale skin, twinkling as he looked down on me, gently brushing my hair away.

"Why are you here so late?" he asked, grabbing a handful of snow and placing it on the small of my back, I'm guessing to numb the pain.

I flinched.

His eyes flickered, as if he realized something. In seconds he'd shrugged off his large, down coat and placed it over me. He rose from his seat beside me and ran somewhere behind me, where I couldn't see. In mere moments he was back, carrying his athletic bag.

"What are you doing?" I whispered, watching him as he rifled through the Nike bag, shifting through rank smelling gym clothes for something elusive.

"This summer, I hurt my back too." He mumbled, his head still in the bag. "I still have some Vicatin left, it'll dull the pain."

"No thank you," I whispered, turning my head.

I knew what Vicatin was. I knew what it did and how it made you feel. I knew how it made the pain float from your body. I knew how it made everything better. I knew, I knew alright . . . I knew too well.

"What?" he asked looking up, the bottle of pills rattling in his hands.

"No thanks, I'll just bear the pain."

"Well if you don't go to the hospital you're going to have to take the pills," he insisted, questions piercing into my eyes.

"Look, I can't swallow pills, so-"

"We can crush them up, its-"

"Look, I can't take the pills, ok? Just stop trying to shove them down my throat!" I yelled.

"Ok, ok," he dropped the pills in his bag. "Just don't bite my head off."

"Why are you here anyway? Shouldn't you be at home sipping some Cognac and making fun of poor people?" I spat.

He rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm not leaving you here. I may be a cold bastard, but I'm not fucking heartless! So if you don't want to be here, tell me where you want to go and I'll take you."

"Anywhere?" my voice shook.

"Anywhere." He watched me avidly.

"Do you know where Star's Hallow is?"

His face broke out in a beautiful smile. His eyes twinkled with mirth as he looked down on me.

"Out of all the places in the world, that's where you'd like to go?"

I shrugged painfully,

"That's where He'll find me."

"Who, your Dad?"

I turned away and stuck my tongue in my cheek.

Tears began to well up in my eyes again.

"Do you have to ask me why, or will you just take me?"

He could hear my voice shake, and I could hear his.

"Yeah." He nodded. "C'mon," he said standing up.

Instead of focusing on the pain of trying to stand up, I focused on his fingers. I focused on the way he touched me so tenderly, so cautiously, as if afraid to break me. Each time that I winced, he noted the spot and kept away from it. His fingers pressed into my body, his body held me up. It felt good.

"There," he breathed as he heaved me in the passenger's seat of his Mercedes. "Ya' know, for such a tiny girl, you sure weigh a lot."

I didn't say anything, though I was reminded of his conversation with Paris earlier today and all I could think was:

_He's obsessed with weight. _

He pulled a woolen blanket from the back seat, along with a pair of sweats.

"Do you think you can get into these? Or do you have any dry clothes in Star's Hallow?"

I struggled in my seat to wiggle out of my clothes while he turned around, but the pain hurt so much. The pain was splintering in my back when I fell off the seat and crumpled onto the pavement.

"Ok, bad idea." He frowned, helping me back into the seat. "Here, let me help you?"

"NO!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," he frowned. "You need to get out of these clothes, it's too cold."

I didn't look at him as he helped me out of my clothes. He didn't hurt me or anything, but it felt . . . weird to have someone taking off your clothes as if you were two, and helping you into their own.

I didn't want to think of his fingers then. The way that his fingers passed over my form as he undressed me with practiced ease, it was disconcerting. He'd done this a myriad of times, I could tell. And the fact that he was doing this to me didn't help matters, even if it was totally innocent.

When he was done dressing me, he wrapped the blanket around me and rushed back to the other side of the car.

When the heat kicked in, he looked back at me. "So, why were you sitting in the prestiged Chilton fountain?"

"Why were you at Chilton at six o'clock at night? Having sex with a cheerleader?"

"I asked you first."

"Well, if you're chivalrous, then it's ladies first, which means you've got to answer my question first."

"What if I'm not?"

"You make out with girls on lockers; you're a natural-borne sweeper of girls' feet."

"So have I swept yours?"

"I'm still picturing ways to kick you out of the car and drive my way to Canada."

"You've got a license?"

"No, but that doesn't mean I can't drive."

"But you'll be driving illegally?"

"Where's the fun in driving legally? Plus, everything is legal until your parents or the Cops find out."

He chuckled, "That's cute, and true."

"Yeah, so why are you here so late?"

"I had practice . . . I'm usually here this late."

"Then why were you the only one to leave the school?"

"I usually stay longer than everyone. I usually close up."

"Hmm," I nodded, looking out the window.

"Are you sure you won't take the pills?" he asked, sending me another side glance.

"No."

"Then why are you here so late?"

"Got upset and ran to the only place that I knew."

"The only place you know is Chilton?"

"And my grandparents. We just moved."

"What'd you get upset about?"

"Something my grandmother said."

"Man, you're sure being descriptive!"

"Well I'm sorry if I can't open up to a guy I just met who was a total asshole to me."

"Yeah, sorry about that," he whispered, his eyes glued to the road before him.

The truck was silent for awhile.

I couldn't take it. It was awkward. There was no place to look but outside the truck, and no offense, but the road to Nowheresville isn't as interesting as they advertise.

I leaned foreward and turned on the radio, not caring what radio station it was or what kind of music played, just as long as there was no silence.

It was deafening.

We both stared out into the road, gently dusted with snow and grey mounds of gray along the curbs.

We didn't speak until we drove upon the "Welcome to Star's Hallow" sign.

I could laugh at how quaint and simple it was. I could just imagine Martha Stuart having a holiday when she was commissioned to make the sign. It was a crafter's dream. Five point stars were carved out of the unvarnished wood, the words: Welcome to Star's Hallow were scrawled in a luxurious green and white script. In the corner were the Mayor's name and the town population . . . 3,000. And painted off to the side was the town's pride, the Gazebo, with the silhouette of the lost lovers inside.

"What's so funny?"

"Huh?"

"You're practically bubbling with laughter," he grinned, casting another glance towards me.

"I didn't know you were paying attention," I said trying to straighten my face to the expressionless expression that I still had yet to master.

"Well I was, so why are you ready to burst into giggles?" he smiled back.

Before I could check myself, I did bust into laughter, my eyes soon welling with tears as I let the mirth wash over me . . . at least I hoped it was mirth.

After the tears and laughter had finally subsided, he looked over at me.

"This place is so unaffected. The sign looks like a group of soccer moms with some time on their hands decided to come together for the greater good. Everything here is so perfect . . . untainted by the real world."

"You're right," he said as we maneuvered around the gazebo and he stopped in front of Luke's diner, the town center. Placing the car in park he twisted his torso to face me. "So now we're here, where do you want to go?"

"Strawberry fields."

"Where's that?"

"I'll show you."

For five minutes he followed my directions and we ended up in the same place I'd been with Lorelei just two days previous.

"This is Strawberry fields? It's nice."

"Yeah, I love the way it looks."

"Doesn't look like anyone's home?"

"They're not."

"It has a very homey feel to it. The shudders, and wrap around porch really gives it a family aura."

"What do you know about auras?"

"Nothing really, except everything you go into must have a good one. Otherwise it's crap."

"Who taught you that?"

"Some hippie chick I hung out with in California."

"And by hung out you meant-"

"Tutored her in Algebra," he smirked as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

I laughed at his reply, knowing full well what the "hippie chick" and he did.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, both of us staring up into the old Victorian style beach house . . . both admiring what we didn't have.

"I'll open the door for you," he insisted climbing out of the car and jumping up the stairs. It took him a few moments to realize it was locked. In moments he was back at my window, asking for my keys.

"I don't have any," I replied once he'd climbed back into the driver's seat.

"You mean your dad didn't give you the keys yet?"

"My mom and no. We're not moving in until Saturday morning."

"Oh," he frowned. "Well, how are you going to spend the night here?"

"I was going to sleep on that porch swing over there," I pointed.

He snorted unattractively and looked back at me.

"That thing couldn't even support Calista Flockhart after a year of fasting. What makes you think it'll support you?"

"It will." I pouted, sticking out my lower lip.

"And what makes you think I'm going to let you freeze?"

"The fact that chivalry's dead and you don't even know me. I'm also below your class and a bastard."

"Keep wishing." He rolled his eyes. "Do you want to call your mom?"

"Why are you staying with me, don't you have to head home?"

"I don't have to do anything I don't want to." He puffed out his chest.

"Then don't you think going home and sleeping in your Egyptian cotton sheets, on your fluffy down pillows with your bottle of Evian on your nightstand sounds better than sleeping in an awkward position in your luxury car that seemed to have forgotten it was luxury for sleeping purposes? Why would you want to hang out with a complete stranger when you can wake up perfectly rested and energized tomorrow morning?"

"I want to make sure that you're ok, and that I am not an accessory when you're found murdered and mutilated on this beautiful house's steps."

"Thanks for the cheery picture!" I frowned.

"Look, if you don't want to go home, how about you sleep on the backseat, and I'll stay here up front. We can just stay here, and we'll do whatever in the morning."

"But you've got school in the morning?"

"And so do you." he nodded, turning to look at me with those twinkling blue eyes.

At that moment, it was as if I'd never seen him a day in my life. The cocky smirk and cold leer of earlier today was completely erased from my memory as I looked into those eyes. For the first time, I saw something completely vulnerable in them. They were wide and unobtrusive, but they were also scared and concerned. He looked as if he wanted to tell me something . . . but something wouldn't let his lips form the words.

"OK," I nodded, "if you'll help me. I don't think I can move."

In a few moments, he'd helped me into the back seat and shut the door behind me, leaving me cocooned in his warm blanket. He took the driver's seat, leaving the heat on as we both nestled beneath our coverings and drifted to sleep.

"Goodnight Gilmore," he breathed before he drifted off.

"It's Rory, and goodnight Tristan."

"Sweet dreams, Rory."

Just before my mind drifted off to the enigmatic place that is dreams, I remember thinking: _I change my mind. If I ever needed someone, he was the perfect person . . ._

TBC . . .

A/N: Hey, Troryness!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hoped you liked this chapter, I certainly did. I know it took a while, but it's up, so don't sacrifice me to the writing gods! I know there's still a lot of questions, and I know this chapter just opened a plethora (I can just imagine the e- mails being dictated right now in your heads asking me who He is. and why and how Rory got kicked out of school and all that mushy stuff. But you're just going to have to deal until I decided to release that info). So have fun, be safe . . .

w/ luv, Yo-yo


	10. I Want to Tell You

Strawberry Fields -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

A/N: Hey, I know I haven't updated in awhile, but things have been a little hard. But thanx for reading my fics and reviewing. I need you to definitely read this next.

I'm going to write a new story because I've realized that although this is a really fun fic to write, in this perspective, it's just gets too hard. Writing an entire story on what Rory thinks is a good idea, but understanding why Tristan does what he does and feels how he feels is important too. And I didn't want to disrupt this already formed story by switching perspectives. So I'm writing a new fic from Tristan's POV called "Nowhere Man." It will follow the same format as "Strawberry Fields" and will be named after Beatle songs (hence the name). Hope you guys read it. The first chapter will be up soon.

Oh, and I'd like to know who you think HE is? It's very exciting!

I Want to Tell You:

I tried to slip past Ms. Peltry as Mission Impossibly undetected as possible (isn't that redundant?), leaving my late excuse on her desk and making my way to the only available desk, but the entire class's eyes swiveled to watch me ungracefully make my way to my seat.

My cheeks were tinged with pink, and not from the fever. Instead, I kept thinking of what was running through everyone's minds . . . I was a sight.

My hair had been pulled back in a wavy mess atop my head- I'd towel dried it on the way to Chilton. My nose was as red as Rudolph's, my cheeks as rosy as Santa Claus's (or shall I say Satan, if you switch around the n), and my eyes as watery as Peter Pettigrew (sorry, another Harry Potter reference, definite obsession there). Although my uniform was perfectly pressed, tissues and cough drops stuck out from every available pocket. I couldn't even fit my money in my pocket. On my feet were my scoffed black Timberlands- I couldn't find my Black-eye-peas, my Nomads, OR my Mary Janes.

Of all the eyes watching me today as I coughed during her lecture, sneezed during the important dates and sniffled with the horrible stuffed nose sound, his were the eyes I could feel staring at me. I could pinpoint his stare exactly. I knew where he was sitting and that he had a pen in his teeth. I knew that he'd been writing notes diligently until I had shown up, and for the rest of the class period, he didn't.

When the lunch bell rang, I groaned a sigh or relief and began gathering my things. In moments, Lane was beside me, placing her books in her bag, along with Paris, Madeline and Louise, with suspicious looks on their faces.

"Why are you here today?" Lane asked, "You look like shit."

"Caught a cold last night, and didn't like the look of it just missing the second day of school. It was like being . . . it's a free ride, when you've already paid . . ."

". . . and who would have thought it, it figures!" Lane finished by singing the line.

"Yeah, useless, and ironic."

"Lane, has anyone told you you've got a killer voice?"

"Thanks Maddy," Lane beamed at the brunette.

"No," Louise remedied, "she meant it could LITERALLY kill someone!"

"I hope you choke . . ." Lane frowned, shrugging on her bag and pushing back her jet black hair. ". . . on Cum!"

"What was that I heard from our sweet innocent, Lane?" Tristan posed coming behind our group.

We started to move outside of the classroom and I missed what Lane had retorted. Instead, my thoughts were brought back to this morning when I was awaken by loud poundings on Tristan's window.

"Rory," Mom asked opening the door, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine." I groaned as she pulled me to her in a tight hug.

But that was when my body chose to remind me that I was hurt, and I cried out in pain.

"What happened, what happened?" she gasped letting me go and inspecting me with her eyes.

"She fell," Tristan's voice chimed in, and I turned to look at him.

I wasn't going to admit it, but he looked adorable in the morning. He had yet to wipe the sleep from his eyes, but his bedroom eyes and disheveled hair that was flattened on one side, made him look sweet, almost innocent. On the side of his face, the patters of the leather seats were pressed against his sunken cheeks. His blue eyes twinkled with morning youth, and his lips formed a crooked, benign smile to me.

"She fell!" Lorelei exclaimed, "Where does it hurt?"

"She fell on her back. I had some painkillers, but she wouldn't take them. There's going to be an angry bruise, if there isn't one now."

"Why didn't you call me?" she looked me in the eye.

"I didn't bring my cellphone, or any money. I couldn't." I lied looking away.

"You're in Star's Hallow. You could have asked Luke, he would have let you, and you could have gotten something to eat."

"I didn't think of that."

Both Tristan's and my stomachs growled at the same time.

"Yeah, obviously." Then she turned to Tristan. "Hey you, can you get her in the house? I'm going to run to Luke's, bring you guys back some breakfast, and maybe a doctor for her."

"Sure," he replied, taking the keys from her hands and getting out of the driver's seat. He'd already turned off the car.

She ran off to the diner, the fastest I've ever seen her run in my life (if she hadn't run from the police the one time we'd snuck into a U2 concert and had gotten caught, I would have said for the first time in my life).

"C'mon," Tristan breathed, pushing my hair from my face and helped me out of the car. We slowly, but surely made our way inside Strawberry fields, his fingers on my lower back, gently guiding me into the living room.

He guided me onto the overstuffed couch, concealed with a white tarp.

I had never been inside Strawberry Fields, and when my eyes finally fell upon the living room, I couldn't wait for Saturday night.

The room still smelled of paint, they had painted it two weeks ago, but I guess because of the smothering, the scent hadn't escaped yet. The green carpet on the floor reminded me of a home I'd never known. All our furniture was arranged haphazardly around the house, still looking for the perfect spot to sit to let the positive energy move around the room freely . . . to be feng shuied. The fireplace was barren, yearning for something to fill it, either a crackling fire, or our "pretty" shoes . . . but something. The corridors leading out of the room seemed to open up the place.

"We've never lived in a house before," I whispered, looking around me, taking in the space surrounding us, consuming us.

"Never?" he asked, looking down at me, a look of disbelief on his face.

"We've lived in apartments, condos, and bungalows, but never a real-whole house. We've even lived in a kitchenette apartment, but never in a house."

Disbelief still shown in his eyes.

"We've never needed one. We've never lived anywhere long enough. Even when we lived in Alaska we took an apartment above a pastry shop. I think the longest we've ever lived anywhere was about a year. That was in Chicago where my mom was taking classes. We left Chicago two hours before her graduation. It was a lot of fun."

"Why do you guys move around so much?"

I shrugged. At first, I just thought it was out of necessity, and later, instinct. But even when He moved in with us, our nomadic behavior didn't change. In fact, He, who'd lived in Georgia all His life, didn't give up the chance to move away with us. I think at the time she was afraid to be with Him . . . and He proved her right.

"Don't you guys get times to know places? People? Everything? Don't you guys care?"

"I used to . . . then I got over it. We've moved around so much. I used to hate not knowing anyone, never having a stable place, never calling anything home. When kids used to ask me where I was from, I would tell them where I was born, Connecticut, but never had remembered because my mom ran away with me when I was too young to remember. And don't get me wrong, I've never blamed her. It's not like my life has been an utter failure. I had friends and family, just no stable home. But I loved it, I still sort of do. Sometimes I perpetuated the move and sometimes they did."

He looked at me. Well, not at me exactly . . . not through me . . . but inside of me.

His eyes touched something within me. Something I'd never seen, or felt before. He looked within me for awhile, his intense blue eyes burrowing into mine, our gazes locking- the connection not even failing when we blinked.

"I can't describe who or what you are," he whispered finally, after very long moments, "but I want to tell you-"

"Honey, are you ok?" Lorelei called through the front door carrying large bags of Luke's with some guy standing behind her with a large bag.

"Yeah Mom, in here." I called, looking away from Tristan's eyes.

I'd never done this before, and I wasn't going to start with the self- proclaimed Lothario. In my life I've never truly been close to anyone except Lorelei and Him. I've made friends, but I've never been that close to anyone. And the way that he makes me feel when he's close to me, when he puts his fingers on me, when he holds me . . . I don't like it... I don't understand it... And I won't take it.

As if getting the idea, he lifted himself and checked his watch.

"School starts in an hour. My uniform is in my book bag, which is in my car. So I'll just eat, change and leave, unless you need me for something?" he asked looking down at me again.

I shook my head and looked over to my mom.

"What's your name?" she asked Tristan as he took his gaze from mine.

"Tristan DuGrey," he proffered out his hand for her to shake.

"DuGrey," she said thoughtfully, "I know that name. You go to Chilton, don't you?"

He nodded.

"How'd you come across my daughter?"

He looked at me for a moment. Then turned back to her.

"I found her sitting outside the school. I offered her a ride."

"Well, thank you for everything." She whispered, looking back at me. "That means a lot."

"Yeah." He nodded, not looking back at me.

"So, Rory, why were you late?" Lane asked pulling me from my reverie.

We were all sitting at the lunch table. They had already pulled out their lunches, and I had yet to extract my Pop-Tarts from the plastic bag in my backpack.

"I was getting a prescription filled."

"For what?"

"Nothing really. I fell yesterday; I got some painkillers and cold medicine."

"Ooo, which kind?"

"Codeine."

"Doesn't that make you sleep?"

"Yeah, my mom didn't want me to come to school, but I insisted. So can someone take notes for me?"

"Ask Tristan," Louise said sending an inquisitive smirk his way. "He's been quite the Poindexter today. Took notes in all his classes."

"Shut up Louise," Tristan groaned, flicking a fry at her.

"He was late for school too. He missed half of homeroom."

I didn't feel like sitting through this. My head was throbbing and the painkillers were making me lightheaded. I didn't like what they did to my body, and I didn't want to take them in the first place. But the extensive scarring on my back told another story. Luke almost ripped Tristan a new one when he saw it.

"Guys, I've got to study for my Chemistry test, which I didn't study for last night. So if someone would direct me to the library, I'll get out of your hairs."

"Figures." Paris mumbled beneath her breath.

Lane rolled her eyes as she looked away from her Cosmo and jammed another fry in her mouth. She nodded to me and got up from her seat.

"Keep your arms and legs inside the ve-hi-cle at all times," Lane began in a nasal voice. "Please, no flash photography. If you find yourself lost- that's an oxymoron-" she giggled at herself, "if you find yourself lost, just call Marco and I'll Polo my way back to you."

I grinned.

In all the group, Lane wasn't all that bad.

TBC . . .

P.A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Daniel, James, Joseph, Nicolas and Wanda Hammen. You are all within our prayers, and Wanda we're so sorry, and hope that something good will come from this tragedy.


	11. Fool on the Hill

Strawberry Fields -By Yo-yo  
  
Disclaimer: C chappie #1.  
  
Fool on the Hill:  
  
In all the years I'd known Christopher, I never remember calling him Dad. Father, once or twice. Sperm donator . . . usually. But Dad was the farthest comparison from my mind.  
  
For my seventh-grade genealogy project I'd spent countless hours locked up in my room making up new names for grandparents who'd never parented me and relatives whom I wasn't relative with.  
  
Instead of the standard circles and squares, there were fruit. Big, bright, perfect prestigious juicy red and green apples hung from the Gilmore-Hayden tree . . . Except ours.  
  
Lorelei II and III lay on the ground . . . rotten.  
  
Christopher wasn't given a name, but was rather titled Paternal Pomegranate.  
  
They called Lorelei to discuss the issue. One teacher said I was morbid . . . Another said I was imaginative.  
  
And here he stands with a grin stretching from ear to ear as he lifts boxes and carries them from room to room following Lorelei's orders. He wore the dumb grin of an athlete, happy to be doing something useful . . . not knowing about the seventh grade family-tree project or the time when I asked Lorelei what a Daddy was . . . it took me until the lily drowned casket rolled beneath the earth to understand.  
  
"Hey Lorelei, Rory," a voice called from outside the door.  
  
"If you're sexy, come in!" Lorelei called from the kitchen where she had Christopher arranging the table in the predetermined spot.  
  
Jess poked his head through the door and looked at me.  
  
"Does that mean I can come in?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know," I shook my head, my eyes wide. "Lorelei takes her sexy questions very serious. You should stand out in the cold until she can come and take a look. I don't want to get in trouble."  
  
He chuckled as he shut the door behind him.  
  
"What are you doing here?" I asked looking up from my Global Studies book.  
  
"Luke heard you guys were moving today, so he sent me to come help do your bidding. He reckoned it'd be faster that way. He'll be over in a few moments, he was having an argument with Caesar."  
  
"More men?" Lore asked brushing her hands off on my Express jeans, then stuffing them in the back pockets.  
  
"Two more in fact," I nodded towards Jess.  
  
"My, oh my," Lore fanned herself with the worse Southern accent she could procure. "We are just so popular with the men folk in these here parts. What ever are we ta' do?"  
  
"I think they just want a brothel," I smiled.  
  
"How'd they know that's what we were here for?"  
  
"Lore, you're giving away our secret!" I admonished.  
  
"Oh, sorry, did I do that?" she giggled.  
  
"Tomorrow morning we're getting you committed." Chris said coming from behind. He spotted Jess standing next to my place on the couch and his brown eyes flickered as he came forward.  
  
"Hi, I'm Christopher Hayden, Rory's dad." He shook Jess's hand.  
  
"Hi, Jess Mariano. I work at the diner in the center of town."  
  
"Chris, do you remember Luke? He used to hang with us during our summer's here? He was totally obsessed with Rachel?"  
  
"Vaguely," he replied, his face scrunched together like an ugly dog.  
  
"Well, this is his nephew; his sister Liz's kid."  
  
"Nice to meet you Jess; what brings you by?"  
  
"He and Luke are helping us get settled." I answered, then turned to Jess. "You can help me put together my room."  
  
"Sure," he nodded before casting a glance at Lorelei and Chris before following me. When we were out of earshot, he asked,  
  
"I thought your mom wasn't married?"  
  
"She isn't, and he isn't- my dad that is," I explained as we unrolled the many tarps from the scattered furniture. "He donated some sperm, an X- chromosome and little else. He's nothing really . . . he just wishes he were."  
  
"Wow, you speak about him with such warmth." Jess said dryly.  
  
"Yeah, well, you would too if the last time you saw your father was when you were ten."  
  
"How 'bout in ten years?" Jess countered.  
  
My hands stopped working and my eyes flew up to meet his.  
  
"Where's you mom?"  
  
"Back in New York, probably getting wasted with some ass-hole who barely knows her name right now. She sent me to live with Luke last year . . . said I was too much trouble. The truth was, motherhood wasn't worth the trouble." He frowned, lowering his eyes and tossing the tarp over his shoulders.  
  
Jess and I were a lot alike. We were both abandoned . . . both obligations.  
  
"Where do you want this?"  
  
"What?" I shook my head, his voice snapping me from my reverie.  
  
"This desk, where do you want it?"  
  
"Uh, over by the window." I replied, hardly thinking.  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"That one," I pointed, shaking my head again, trying to stay on track.  
  
We worked diligently and relatively silent for the next two hours until Lore, Luke and Christopher popped their heads in the door (quite like The Three Stooges) and announced an early lunch (more formally known as brunch . . . until you're a Gilmore girl).  
  
"You stole my spot."  
  
"Oh, sorry," I sighed, not looking up from the frozen pond before me.  
  
"It's ok, we can share it. Just shove over, won't cha?" Jess said, sitting beside me on the tiny bridge.  
  
I didn't say anything.  
  
I kept thinking of what he'd said yesterday of his mother. The way he'd callously let those hurtful words slip form his lips as if it were nothing.  
  
I've met tons of people in my life, none of them the same . . . but I don't ever remember hearing that tone of voice . . . except when I spoke of Christopher.  
  
"Jess, why did your mom and dad split up?"  
  
"I dunno?" he shrugged.  
  
I looked over at him, and squinted my eyes as the sun silhouetted his figure to me. He sat hunched over, his back making the perfect curve as he fished in his breast pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes. His fingers shook slightly as he smacked the box against his hand until a few popped up. Pulling out a cig, he offered it to me. I shook my head and he shrugged while placing the cig between his lips. Replacing the box in his pocket, he pulled out a light and lit the end.  
  
I watched as the tip ignited at the touch of the flame, a bright yellow. He inhaled and it flamed to a fiery orange before settling into a red vermillion. When he in exhaled, smoke poured from his nose and mouth, a satisfied sighed escaped his escaped his lips and his eyes closed in sated wonder.  
  
I don't know what came over me, but before he could take another drag, I plucked the cancer stick from his lips and brought it to me. I took a small inhale, gasped and coughed, handing the cig back after completely making a fool of myself.  
  
I could hear Jess chuckling in the background as I gasped for clean air and lungs. His chortle was sort of melodic. It rumbled from the deepest, most secret part of him through his chest, encompassing his heart, and danced through his throat as if reached up and out of his lips.  
  
His chuckle was all him; manly, powerful, devious, but ragged around the edges. It was laced with happiness and sorrow, and doused in something that was completely him.  
  
"It wasn't that funny." I scowled finally, amazed that his laughter hadn't died away.  
  
"Yeah, it was," he nodded, still laughing. "The way your eyes sort of bugged out of your head. And your body sort of heaved over. It was hilarious!"  
  
I shot him my patented withering glare, which only served to spurn his laughter even more. Clouds of warm air mixed with cigarette smoke billowed from his lips. His brown eyes twinkled too, and his thin lips twisted in a nice laugh.  
  
"Ok, ok." I groaned lifting up my gloved hand to him and giving him the finger. "So, Rory Gilmore has humiliated herself yet again, so what? Now I know why I haven't picked up that nasty habit." I frowned as he took another drag.  
  
"You want to try again?" he asked, laughter danced merrily in his eyes.  
  
"Piss off." I looked at the water again, my thoughts growing heavy again.  
  
"My ass if frozen." His voice told me.  
  
"Mine too." I nodded not looking away from the frosted exterior.  
  
We sat like that for two hours. Two teenagers, both drawn to the same spot, wrapped in their own thoughts; consumed in a comfortable silence.  
  
Comfortable . . . wow.  
  
It's been awhile since I cold equate comfortable with another person. I'd long lost my capacity to be comfortable, to not be bogged down by everything that scares me. To sit without caring about what others think . . . Wow, comfort.  
  
Jess and I sat in a comfortable silence . . . the fool on the hill- sorry, bridge- and the smoker . . . wrapped in out own thoughts.  
  
TBC . . .  
  
A/N: Hoped you liked this chapter, and please read "Nowhere Man." R&R please!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
w/ luv, Yo-yo 


	12. You Never Give me Your Money

Strawberry Fields

-by Yo-yo

Disclaimer:C chappie #1.

You Never Give Me Your Money:

"Do you ever get the feeling we're on 'The Gilmore Show'?"

My dream of Robert Carmine is cut short as the mattress dips with the presence of Lorelei's weight.

"What?" I struggle to reclaim the unconsciousness as she settles beside me (and a little on top of me) bringing me into consciousness.

"Well," she tucks her head next to mine, her fingers twirl in my hair. "…like 'The Truman Show?' Do you ever get the feeling that we're being watched? That our every move is being documented and all our spontaneous behavior is being reported to some scary man called Christof who is literally 'The Man in the Moon'?"

"Lemme go back to sleep," I plead, Robert's smile and gorgeous eyes still discernable beneath my eyelids.

"Maybe that's why we never get that one channel on cable. You know… the one that everyone says has got the two old lady's knitting. Maybe that's OUR channel and everyone's in on it. Don't cha think?" she pokes me.

"No," I roll over, burying my face beneath my pillow. "Believe me, Lore, your life is not that interesting."

"Huh," she pauses before pulling the pillow from over my head. "Because I just got woken up by a very perky man named Taylor at… oh six am to be informed that I have not been to the grocery store in two weeks-"

"Huh?" I squint, the sunlight seeping from my window shades make my eyes hurt. She moves over me and through my eyes I could see her disconcerted expression.

"Turns out the entire town has been worried about its two new residents. He said if it was about our current financial state-with the moving and all- he'd be glad to open a tab for us, as long as I consented to a credit check, of course. And then he proceeded to tell me how much he hoped we weren't loners because Star's Hallow was not the place for loners-"

"No kidding," I sigh, pushing hair from my face.

"He didn't leave until half an hour later, when I had to tell the tiniest white lie and inform him that it was time for you to wake up-"

"Good for you," I turn away from her and settle back into bed.

"So… wake up!"

"What!" I groan. "Its six thirty-three am… you said it was a lie!"

"Yea…" she sighed, placing her chin on my shoulder. "After dealing with a psychopath for half an hour, I don't got much sleep left in me, so you need to wake up. I'm bored."

"Lorelei!"

"You act as if I've got someone else to hang with?"

"What about your other daughter… remember, your favorite one?"

"Like my FAVORITE daughter would do, she ran off to tour with Stillwater-"

"Fictional band featured in 'Almost Famous'?"

"She's dating Billy Crudup," Lorelei nods.

"He left his pregnant girlfriend."

"It's become a trend in Hollywood," she shrugs. "Kevin Federline and Flavio Briatore can all add that to their resumes. It's now high fashion to have a bastard boyfriend…"

"And now your favorite daughter will be in with the in-crowd."

"Exactly!"

"Arg," I groan.

She won't leave me. She'll pester me in bed until I move. I can try to sit her out, wear her down with incessant conversation. I can try to lull her back to sleep, but I know the outcome. She will fall asleep in my bed, which is terribly uncomfortable considering this twin bed barely holds me and the plethora of pillows we've amassed over the years.

"Tomorrow I'm leaving you for Robert Carmine!" I stumble out of bed and make my way over to the bathroom, trying to avoid sunlight at all costs.

"Too bad he's all over Mia Thermopolis."

"She dropped him in two, remember!" I slam the bathroom door.

2.

I can barely make out two feet from my face and she insists upon walking to Luke's. My eyes still half shut from the sleep still tugging at my brain, I trudge along the shoveled pathways, wondering who in their right mind had awoken before six am to make sure the sidewalk is clear.

Probably this Taylor fellow.

Pristine does not give justice to the enchanted village that is Star's Hallow. Every time that I step from our porch I am reminded of those tiny villages they sell in Hallmark stores. I cannot help but see tiny little houses that you hook together and plug into the wall. The fake snow you place on the table twinkling beneath the little lights in each home. There's a post office, a figurine of a little boy walking his dog and a church with a steeple whose bell really rings inside. That little ceramic town is the one we now live in. One of those tiny little homes with the twinkling light is ours- along with the paved sidewalk.

The little boy walking his dog crosses the street before us and all I can think of is:

"'My Favorite Things' are playing / Again and again / But it's by Julie Andrews / And not by John Coltrane…/ This is Hell, this is Hell…" (1)

3.

"Wow, you guys are up early!" the first discernable sentence in the sea of conversation that was Luke's Diner that morning.

There were people everywhere, sitting at tables discussing whatever people discuss at 7am while cradling cups of coffee and munching on morning pastries.

I had never seen so many people in here in the two weeks since we'd moved in.

"It's loud in here Luke. Why is it so loud? And why are there so many people, are you giving out free cocaine?"

"No, these are the people of the town who can function without drugs," he says as we settle into the only vacant table in the whole diner. "This is the usual morning crowd."

"Morning crowd… huh," Lorelei raises a brow. "Well I've never seen these people before. Where did these people come from? I've seen Star's Hallow and it cannot hold your 'morning crowd'."

"Freaks!"

I lay my head on the cool plane of the table. With my ear pressed against the hard plastic the sounds of ceramic mugs scraping as Luke set them before Lorelei and I were magnified. I can hear him pour the liquid into her vessel and before he is done I can hear Lorelei sipping.

I can hear him begin to pour in my mug and I groan.

"No coffee."

"Whoa, what's wrong with her? Is she sick?"

"Oh nothing," Lorelei takes another sip. "She's just cranky, you know… sibling rivalry…"

I do not raise my head, but I could see in my mind's eye the look on Luke's face as he nods in disconcerted comprehension.

"I'll be back." I hear him say before I feel his footsteps vibrating in my ear from the surface of the table.

"Are you still mad at me baby?"

"You are aware that you had me up until 2am watching _Saved!_ and _The Princess Diaries_ because you needed a Mandy Moore fix, right? You do remember me begging you for sleep after Michael told off his sister because at that point that was the end of his good hair, and I was tired. But no, you made me stay up with you 'til the end when her stupid foot popped and Michael had that atrocious slicked back hair! It's your fault I'm sleep deprived!"

"I'm sorry," she sips her coffee. "How about-"

"Wow, you guys are up early," Jess pushes a vacant chair to our table and sits on it backwards. He tips more coffee into my mug before I can protest.

"You too," Lorelei is smiling as I lift my head. "I didn't think James Dean got up until the sun goes down."

Jess rolls his eyes and pours coffee into her mug, "If James Dean wants the Indian in Gypsy's shop he's got to come up with the payment for the guys he's hiring to help him lift it."

"An Indian!" she gasps setting aside her mug to lean closer.

I cannot understand their technical jargon as they go into specifics so I finally begin to take sips from my cup. After five minutes of me recognizing the following words: engine, black paint and chrome, Lorelei grins:

"I hope you'll take me for a spin!"

To which the entire diner halts.

"Lorelei," I sent her a muffled groan. Her eyes grew wide as she begins to comprehend the stillness in the room.

"I meant spinning on the wheels of his bike," she scowls, "not 'spinning'… ewww! He's my daughter's age!"

"Oh my god!" I bury my face in my arms.

My mom's status in Star's Hallow has risen from eccentric to pedophile.

"You guys are gross," she says before turning back to us and making one more sigh of relief. "We're not that interesting!"

She pries my arms apart from the nest they've formed to cradle my head where I pretend to not know her as Jess chuckles beside us.

"Boy I hope that isn't on the show, I don't want our viewers to think we're those type of people. That would really bring down our ratings."

"Lorelei, if this really were 'The Gilmore Show' I suspect our viewers would already know that you're an idiot and that was just a slip up." I look up.

"What are you guys talking about?"

"How you've been sitting here for ten minutes and yet I see no pancakes in front of me."

"Slave driver," he stands up from his chair and scowls at me.

"Don't forget the eggs and hash browns," Lorelei calls after him. "I love the service here."

"So what are we going to do with all this extra time?"

"I was thinking-"

"Hey, Lorelei, I found some of your mail in my mailbox, I thought I'd hand it over this morning, but I'd never suspected that I'd see you so early. It's at my house. I'll drop it off at your house later today. Gosh it's cold outside." She shivers for effect.

"Thanks Miss Pattie."

"Have you guys been served?" Luke shuffles back over, after Miss Pattie has departed. The coffee mug still surgically attached to his hand.

"By Jess, and not in the dirty way," she adds scowling at the other patrons.

"Okay," his words are slow and confused. "I'm getting back to work."

"Seven am must mean business? We haven't had a free moment to talk since we got here."

"I know, why are people so-"

"So I was thinking we'd check out some book stores in the area, meet your Mom for lunch and then check out the new music store in Hartford."

"No way James Dean," she shakes her head. "Today is mother-daughter day for Natalie Wood and me. We have so errands we need to run, some grocery shopping we need to do and-"

"Oh," he sighs, leaning back in his seat, "I get why you're awake so early on a Saturday morning!"

"Taylor Doose?"

"Taylor Doose." He grins. "He doesn't this to everyone. I'm amazed everyone doesn't leave that man is a tyrant."

"Hey, I just realized something," I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, still wondering about Lorelei's Natalie Wood comment. "It couldn't be Christof, it has to be Taylor Doose."

"Yea!" she grins, slapping my hand in a high-5. "Oh wait, that's totally creepy! But you're right, that's smart."

"I try." I place a piece of bacon in my mouth and smirk.

4.

When I was four years old I lost Lorelei in the grocery store. I knew where I was going. I was familiar with the grocery store layout and could maneuver through the aisles as though I recognized them like the back of my hand. Lorelei on the other hand was lost once we advanced past the sugar and snacks.

I remember the sheer terror of it all. Not tall enough to see above the displays, and not knowing a soul in this city, I didn't know if she could find me. This was before there were cameras everywhere, so all this place had to keep its precious merchandise secure were those cloudy mirrors that distorted their patrons and really faired bad in situations such as this where people were constantly bustling in and out of the building and a random child could just be grabbing the eggs her mum asked for.

I was in the produce aisle and I knew she would never find me there. I contorted and sought my way through the sea of legs belonging to women and men who were not my mother. I couldn't remember which aisle I'd last seen her. I couldn't remember if she had asked me to get peanut butter or Nutella. At the time all my neurons could process was that my mother was lost and I needed to find her. Through the sea of brand names and store brought goods, through the aisles of kids and parents, through the towers of clothing detergent and Brillo pads, I finally found her standing in the cereal aisle.

I'd never seen her look like this before.

The food cart sat beside her, full of things a normal mother would never call groceries. She was facing me. She wasn't crying. She was still, eyes wide, tears brimming and shining in their ducts, but not falling. There was a frown on her face. I didn't know what to call the expression that contorted her face, but as clear as I could recognize it on her face; I could feel it seeping out of my heart, my bones and out of my body.

A box of cereal lay next to her. She had dropped it when she realized she was lost.

Lore and I standing in the middle of the cereal aisle at some non-descript grocery store staring at one another in a mixture of relief and terror is a far cry from our current positions.

"Mom, I'm sooooo hungry!" I moan grabbing my stomach for extra effect.

"Well that's why we came to Doose's Grocery Store for quality goods at a great price that will keep our family from starving."

"Apples?"

"And oranges!"

Picture this:

Lorelei and I are standing in the back aisle of Doose's. We are nothing more than two feet apart screaming at the top of our lungs at one another. Our over exaggerated dialogue and constant name dropping meant to convince the residents of Star's Hallow of our pseudo healthy lifestyle.

"Pop Tarts."

"And peas! And look, they're on sale!" she exclaims, thrusting two frozen packages into my hands.

I lean closer to whisper, "What the hell are we going to do with these?"

"Stick them in the freezer in preparation for Brad Pitt's visit and my inevitable fall that will keep him in our living room nursing me back to health."

"Oh," I frown and nod, throwing the frozen vegetables in our basket. "Is he here yet?"

Never choosing to miss up a comical moment, she looks around as though someone might be snooping and the proceeds to jump in place in order to view over the partitions.

"No," she frowns, two minutes later.

"Let's go then, we've already been here for half an hour."

"Yea," she groans, looking down at our four baskets of groceries. "I wish he could have seen us though. We did good… we even got vegetables this time."

"Sorry hun," I pat her shoulders and pick up two baskets.

"Taylor Doose sure keeps up a beautiful establishment!" she belts for good measure and we proceed to the check-out.

We lay our items on the belt when Lorelei began to hop in place as something good caught her attention.

"What?" I ask noticing after laying down a box of frozen pizza.

"You pay, I'll be right back!"

"What!"

"I'll be right back." She threw the money on the belt and bolts out of the store as though Brad had just sauntered past the Fixodent display.

I give a little groan as I resume my task of putting all our crap on the belt.

"Hey, you're new, aren't you?"

"Huh?" I look up to find this giant boy grinning at me.

When I say giant, I don't mean GIANT. He was normal size, I guess, he was just really tall, looming might be a good word for it. He leans down a bit, making his stature less intimidating. He is cute: dark hair and equally dark eyes that glint a little as he grins at me.

I must admit I am a little disconcerted, a complete stranger talking to me. But then I realize this is Star's Hallow and I had to learn to get used to it.

"Gilmore? That's your name right?"

"Yea," I nod. "I mean, no. Gilmore is the last name."

"I guessed," he grins as he places more of our items in plastic bags. "So, can I get a hint on the first name?"

"Sorry," I duck my head and scratch my forehead to hide my blush. I am such an idiot. I am so bad at talking to boys.

"Rory," I proffer him my hand and then regretted it. I feel like an idiot. Who under the age of 35 shakes hands these days? But he grabs it before I have the sense to take it back and pumps it a few times with that firm grip everyone's always emphasizing. "I mean, not really. Rory is a boy's name. My name is really Lorelei, but everyone just calls me Rory."

"Nice to meet you Lorelei Rory Gilmore." He finally let's go of my hand.

"Rory's not my middle name." I said.

Smooth Rory, really damn smooth, like freaking gravel. I am soooo lame.

"Well, my name is Dean Forrester."

"Yea, me and my mom were just buying groceries." I nod.

Dean.

That was a good name. You don't meet too many Dean's anymore. The name Dean makes me think of good things. I guess it could be because Dean is also the name of a dairy company in the Midwest that makes REALLY good ice cream. But I like to think it's because he's got a good name and if he's related to the milk guys, it couldn't hurt.

"I heard." He nods and lets out a small chuckle. "That's some damn good advertising. Did Taylor pay you for that?"

"No, that was our own work." I let out a small laugh.

"I'm guessing Taylor paid you a visit?"

"How did you know that?"

"My family just moved in as well, and well, Taylor woke up the house at 6am to tell us that our business would be greatly appreciated and our first purchase would be 2 off."

"You got a discount? And 2 one at that! We only got the 6am wake up." I smile.

He leans closer to me, and I can't help but look into his brown eyes. They're small, but gorgeous. There's a twinkle and a smile on his lips and I know my brain is mush.

"I'll give you three percent off." He whispers near my ear and my whole body blushes.

I am quiet as he resumes ringing up our items and I cannot look at him as I begin to grab the bags and leave. It isn't until I hear my name from his lips again that I turn around.

"Hey, you never gave me your money."

And that was the icing on the cake. I am the biggest loser in the whole world. Not only did I stammer like an idiot when he talked to me, I tried to steal groceries?

I need help.

"Sorry," I try to smile again, but it only comes out as a slight frown. "How much do I owe?"

"138.64."

I place the money Lorelei gave me on the belt and push my way out of the store, as best I could with eight bags hanging from my arms.

Standing on the other side of the door is Lorelei with two ice cream cones in her hand.

"Where were you?"

I am irritated now. I just made a complete idiot out of myself in front of a boy and she's getting ice cream.

"Getting ice cream." She grins shoving one of the cones in my face.

"Well my hands are full. And why are you buying ice cream anyways? We just bought some. You couldn't wait until we walked the whole three blocks to our place to eat the ice cream we'd just purchased? And now you're making me carry all these bags and you haven't even offered to help me out."

"Whoa, I'm sorry Six. What's your problem?"

"My problem is I was woken up at 6:30 am after no sleep and you leave me hanging in the grocery store while you buy ice cream when three minutes before we picked up a gallon's worth."

"This stuff is better, it was off a truck!"

"Urgh! I could have been abducted. You run out of the building at the sign of an ice cream truck and someone could have stolen me!"

"No one wants you Rory, you're too damn smart and Michael Jackson doesn't like girls." She frowns. "What is this really about?"

"I just made a total ass of myself!"

I look away and drop half of the bags.

I don't want to explain this. I just want to go home and finish off the gallon of ice cream that we've just paid for.

"How?"

"Never mind." I sigh taking the cone that's still being thrust in my face and trudging through the snow, back towards our house.

"Hey, wait up!" I hear two minutes later, as she catches me and wraps an arm around my shoulders.

She doesn't say anything at first.

But finally after a few moments she bushes back my hair, places a kiss on my cheek and whispers in my ear:

"He's cute."

TBC…

A/N:Sorry this took so long. I'm like the worst writer ever… making my reader's wait so long. Well. I'm sorry. If you're still interested, which I hope you are. Read and review. Please review, I feel I deserve whatever scathing remarks you have for me. I'll talk to you later. Bye

W/ luv,

yo-yo

(1) Elvis Costello- 'This is Hell'… it's on the Gilmore Girl's soundtrack if you want it.


	13. For No One

Strawberry Fields

-By Yo-yo

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

For No One:

"So I can't decide if 'Pedro the Lion' is a Christian band or not." Lane presses her back against a neighboring locker and tugs on the end of a Twizzler with her teeth.

"Based off of?" I place my books in my bag.

"Well, of course _Amazing Love_ is a big clue. But I dunno, I've been really concentrating on the lyrics, and well _The Longer I Lay Here_ and _Magazine_ definitely refer to a higher being."

"I dunno about Magazine… he's pleading to God for someone to love him. That doesn't quite constitute Creed material."

"Okay, well, _Helicopter_?"

"_Helicopter_ does name the son of God, and I must agree, wings, heaven, flying, angels… they are all reoccurring themes throughout 'Pedro's' work. I think it's safe to say that religion does play a major role in their individual lives and thus seeps itself into their lyrics, but I don't believe that every song is written in hopes that they'll be picked up by an Evangelical church choir."

"All I know is that my mom would definitely nod her head at the words: '…I hear Him say / rest in me little David / and dry all your tears / you can lay down your armor /  
and have no fear / cause I'm always here.'" She pushes off the metal with her heavy soled Doc Martins and proceeds to the cafeteria.

"And now I can't listen to _Lullaby_, thanks Lane." I slam my locker door close.

"No prob." She grins linking arms with Henry.

Such a simple exchange and I can't help myself from smiling in its wake. I had missed these interactions. Moving all the time, I didn't have many of those conversations. Banter wasn't for strangers, everyone needed to know everything about me, and three months just wasn't enough time. I had longed for the interactions that didn't require history from when you were still strangers. I yearned for the normal chit chat of friends… My smile grows wider.

Friends?!

* * *

I was wrapped in a silk of deep blue to bring out my eyes, she gleamed as they pulled and pricked my skin with pins in order to tailor the best fit. My hair had been wrestled into submission by the hot iron that refused to stop burning until my hair was perfectly manipulated. After my limbs had been adjusted and my back stood perfectly straight, they slathered make-up all over my skin, until I could hear all two million of the pores on my face gasp for air. And two hours after I was brought up to the dressing room to freshen up for dinner, I was lead to the top of the stairs while she ran down to the main floor to alert our guests to my grand entrance.

It is an hour later and I am still blushing from my stumble down the staircase.

"Rory," I hear Emily call, gesticulating to another couple with silver hair, "I'd like to introduce you to the Edinburgh's."

Everyone who stands in these rooms are all the same. Gold and silver, diamonds and sapphires all blend into Emily's décor acting as a camouflage. They are hidden beneath the ostentation, concealed by the baubles on which they put such an emphasis. Their lives become a game of subterfuge, placing paintings on the walls to veil the pale color beneath, the nakedness.

"…is your concentration…?"

My mind comes back to the Edinburgh's, and my response to their clipped statement becomes:

"Oh I'm sorry, the paintings on the wall." And I point.

They laugh, and Emily takes my hand and crushes it inconspicuously. "I'm sorry dear, you must have misunderstood, the Edinburgh's asked about your concentration, at Chilton."

Now I have proved my self to be an idiot who cannot pay attention to a simple conversation. My face blushes wildly.

"Journalism."

"Oh, that's a noble profession," Mr. Edinburgh's caring smile never met his eyes, "And what do you plan to do with this once you have finished your high school career?"

"I plan to continue perfecting my writing skills in Harvard in order to become a foreign correspondent."

"Well, you have a very lofty endeavor to pursue. Harvard?! With the rising costs of college, especially in the private sector, you're going to need this," he pulled an envelope from his breast pocket and held it out to me.

"Oh no, you didn't have to," I shake my head in humility. It was my fifth envelope of the night. For every couple that Emily introduced me to, I was given another white envelope, blank on both sides.

I take it between my fingers and thank him. A few more minutes of senseless small talk and Emily excuses me so that I may sink back into the periphery, away from the eyes in the paintings.

Against the marble pillar, my heart rate begins to descend and I find myself within my element again. On the fringe I cast my gaze over the small accumulation of Hartford society that Emily has deemed worthy to assemble in her home. They amass into tiny groups smiling over cute anecdotes, but never really say anything. Their kisses flutter over powdered skin, but never quite absorb onto the surfaces. Their smiles crease their faces, but never penetrate their eyes. I watch as they seem to touch one another, but except for the cellular residue they leave on one another's skin, they are unaffected. And I wonder if that is to become of me?

Will I soon become an automaton in such conditions; never feeling, never experiencing, always effected but never affected?

"You'll never be like these people."

The warm breath starts my heart again, and I jump forward, whirling around from the pillar to find Tristan smirking at me.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I breathe as my lungs expand and contract profusely trying to recapture the air that he stole with his nearness.

"Well I saved the youngest Gilmore's life," he grins grabbing my hand, and pulling me further into the shadows, "I think that constitutes an invitation, don't you?"

"I'd escort you out for attempting to scare the life right out of her." I let go of his hand and make sure Emily hasn't noticed.

"It isn't my fault she's such a nervous creature."

"I'm not nervous."

"You're not like them."

His voice has lost its amiable lilt and his eyes look straight into mine.

"I know. Did you not see how much of an ass I made of myself? I basically told the Edinburgh's I wasn't paying attention to their conversation. The Stevenson's think my knowledge of Russian socialism stops at John Lennon. Emily's furious with me right now. And I can't for the life of me find Lorelei."

In my soul I know these things do not matter, but I cannot bury the feeling of dejection that causes my eyesight to become blurred. First impressions are emphasized greatly in this society and I could not feign an intelligent personality within the house of my own kin. I have impressed so many people. I have made it my life's ambition to get everything that I work for and not let an inability to communicate hamper my progress, and yet in my first social setting, I couldn't come up with anything even mildly intelligent to say.

I turn away as a sob rises from my belly, into my throat and erupts from my lips, shaking my frame, and hunching my shoulders.

"No," I hear him breathe. He takes my hand and leads me out of doors where he hands me a handkerchief. "You cannot cry."

"But-"

"Look, not here, not now. You're the chum in a school of sharks, you're going to get eaten no matter what, but you get to decide in what way. Look, you've made an ass of yourself, that's okay. That just means you're off their radars. You've done yourself a favor. They won't bother you if they don't see you as a threat."

"Are you saying I'm not good en-?"

"I'm saying that now you're at the advantage. I know you, Mary. From your first day at Chilton you've done something that no one has ever accomplished. You got to Paris. You put Paris out of her element and have challenged her in a way that no one else has managed to do. These people here don't know that; they'll underestimate you. Don't let this get to you. In some ways, I envy you."

I stumble back until I am sitting on the concrete railing to the balcony. And I wonder how I will ever to survive this world?

My companion falls into the background as my eyes take in all that this world entails: the limos parked out in the circle with frosted windows, the tinkling of harp music inside seeping from the closed doors out onto the balcony, the large iron gates with a G insignia in the middle, and the silk of my dress catching on the concrete.

This is the world my mother fled… this is the world she is letting them expose me and it is the scratching ignition of a match that returns my companion to my consciousness.

He leans forward as he cradles the light between his fingers, seeking to illuminate the end of the cigarette at his lips. His skin becomes a satellite, with red and orange and yellow and white reflecting as though from deep within. His eyelids lower, as the flame catches and he inhales with practiced ease. And in a moment, as if finally waking, his piercing eyes press me against the railing and the exhalation of smoke he emits bathes my perfumed skin.

"I'm sorry," he frowns, "I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay," I motion towards his cigarette, "May I?"

"Take a drag of my cigarette?"

I roll my eyes and nod.

"You're really not a Mary."

I clasp it between my middle and index fingers and I take a deep breath, forcing the smoke and ash deep within my lungs. Even after I remove the filter side from my lips I hold in the polluted air until my lungs begin to burn in defiance. When I finally let the smoke expel, my eyes begin to water and the back of my throat is singed.

"That was okay for a first timer." He shrugs.

"Sadly, that wasn't my first time," I stick my hand out to him.

"No, I'm going to teach you how to smoke."

"My mom-"

"Isn't here, and obviously you want to do this, it was you that asked to take a pull. You can't start something and expect not to finish it. If you're going to be one of us, you're going to have to do it right."

"What are you-?"

"Bring the cigarette back to your lips, and inhale. Draw the smoke into your lungs and hold it for a few moments. Do not open your lips, but rather breathe out through your nose."

I do as he says, and my nostrils burn. The burning feeling catches me off guard and I cough out the rest of the smoke, which plumes from both my lips and my nose.

I look back at Tristan. He has no defined lines anymore; he is a blur as I see him through my smarting eyes.

"Repeat."

Again I breathe in the smoke, and when I exhale, it is smooth; I am not caught by the sting. I grow accustomed to the pain.

"Good, now finish." He brings another cigarette to his lips and we let the cool air wrap around us as we finish our cigarettes.

It is an hour later when I find Lorelei on one of the couches cradling a highball of amber liquid. When she spots me she presses the car keys into my hand, and we soon escape the house, back to Star's Hallow.

* * *

Fifteen hundred and eighty-five dollars surrounded me in checks the next morning. What I had done to deserve them I wasn't sure, but nine individual checks made out from various offices had been handed to me last night, with no script on the memo line and a rubber stamp where the signature should be. Each of those friends of Richard and Emily Gilmore amassed fifteen hundred dollars for a girl they'd never met and had no attachment to. They presented me with these pristine white envelopes with no endearments on the front and no name on the 'pay to the order of' line.

How do you cash fifteen hundred and eight-five dollars in checks drawn up for no one?


	14. I'm Down

Strawberry Fields

-By Yo-yo

Disclaimer: C chappie #1

A/N: I don't know if I have to announce that it has been one hell of a hiatus that I took from this story. I have held it so close to my heart, but unfortunately it has taken FOREVER for me to get back to it. I am trying to reclaim a lost art. If my writing doesn't quite match the other chapters, don't worry, I am trying to recapture her voice, her vitality, her angst, and once I've written a few chapters I'll revise in order to reassert her style.

I'm down:

The sound of bare feet slapping against the floorboards startles me from my place slumped over the kitchen table with textbooks and notes acting as my pillow and drool receptacles. For a moment I am unacquainted with my surroundings, muddling through all of the kitchen tables in all of the lives I have lived. I am unsure of how I ended up here, in such an awkward position, with Jane Austen based research stuck to my face. It isn't until I've pried the smooth piece of jam-free paper from my cheek and focused on the minute font that I remembered sneaking into the Strawberry Field's kitchen at 4am to study for my _Pride and Prejudice_ test in Mr. Medina's class.

But I fell asleep; I didn't mean for her to catch me.

"Rory," Lorelei frowns upon finding me looking obviously guilty at a table literally dripping with text. "I…You had to sneak to study?"

Although we've settled into Star's Hallow and Strawberry Fields quite nicely, routine and domesticity haven't completely deterred the old demons. Yesterday began silently: the stretch for coffee early in the morning before our eyes had even opened, the walk to Luke's after having cleaned up, and the late breakfast amid the cacophony of business going on around us. Even our exchanges with Luke, Jess and the people of the town, despite our still vivid sense of novelty, were brief. Later, we set to work grocery shopping, studying, and job hunting. It wasn't until she came down the stairs holding a favorite sweater, with shimmering eyes, that we finally connected that day.

She had been searching the Star's Hallow Gazette, looking through the classifieds, when a chill from the slowly fading winter made her whole body shiver. In an attempt to stay warm, and not raise the gas bill, she ran upstairs to grab a sweater. Unfortunately, she had grabbed a favorite gift from Him, the last gift from Him, and all the thoughts that had been pushed aside while traveling, moving and ultimately settling came rushing back.

That night we pushed routine aside, and cried for the first time in months. It wasn't until 1am when we finally went to bed that I reset my alarm in order to finish preparing for the upcoming test.

I had assured her earlier that I was done studying.

"It's no big deal, Lore."

"'No big deal,' she says! Your back is the color of pistachio ice cream and you just spent, I don't know how long, sleeping in a position that will require you to wear a hot pack to school again. You're late for school. And you have literary criticism tattooed to the side of your face."

A groan emits from me as I rub the side of my face she is referring to.

"Look, I was just being cautious," I said lifting myself slowly from my seat, hoping to sit up straight wouldn't require time consuming stretching, "I freaked out about the test last night and decided to brush up a little more.

"Please be sweet to me, my back hurts and I need help getting ready for school."

I finish with a pout and big eyes, hoping to elicit some sympathy.

"I hate you only because I taught you that," she sighs shifting her pencil skirt to the correct position on her hips and heading for the still dripping coffee machine. "I'll pack your bags and you go scrub that beautiful face of yours. I'll also put the heat pack in the microwave."

"I love you only because you taught me that." I smile trudging into the bathroom.

* * *

We haven't spoken since the party.

Our interactions amid our friends are still the same. We don't converse in the hallways unless a member of his group is there. We don't sit near one another in class, at assemblies or at lunch. We avoid one another to maintain the semblance of aversion, but I haven't been able to get him alone to thank him… again.

I feel as though I am always thanking him, without ever having asked him for help.

Lane has become my emissary for Chilton, and strangely, Tristan has become my ambassador to Hartford society.

"So we've decided that it's time." Penny Lane pulls the clean spoon from her lips, and stabs the concave utensil back into the yogurt container. "You've been sitting at our table and studying with us in the library for little over three months now. At Chilton, remaining in a three month relationship constitutes marriage and sitting with a select group, for said period of time, is considered initiation. Now, we have tested you in terms of academic aptitude, group temperament and something very complex that I like to call rad-itude. After much discussion," she sends a pointed glare to both Paris and Louise, "we have decided to extend an invitation to Chilton's best social group. Will you accept?"

I look into the lenses of Penny's glasses. She thinks I am looking into her eyes, considering my invitation to become an exclusive member of their social group. Instead, I am analyzing the reflection looking back at me. Framed in black plastic, two Rorys stare back at me while fighting back complimenting smiles.

It's stupid, and vapid on my end, but it's amazing to feel wanted. To feel included is something rarely felt for someone like me. A transient, passing briefly through many lives, but never attaining an existence of her own, finally being accepted, asked, wanted to share in others' lives.

I want to cry… but I'll do that at home.

"Of course!"

"Well then," Madeline begins her part of the narration, "now that you have accepted our invitation, you will be inaugurated this weekend. Now, we know that your weekends are your own. Up until this point you have declined our attempts to include you in our extracurricular activities, citing family, moving and studying as your main deterrents. But upon your approval to join our group, you must adhere to our rules."

"Which includes participating in the induction process," Louise smirks, sending a side glance to Paris.

"I understand," I nod, knowing that the request could ask of me more than I can ever give them.

I run my eyes over the girls sitting around me. Lane's cool, calculating façade, albeit secure in her decision, is aware that I may not make good on their offer. Madeline's eager grin open and accepting, as she's always been, which comforts me a little, because I know nothing malicious is in store with that smile. Louise's skeptical smirk, never once being able to trust me, sold completely on the understanding that I'm unworthy of their time. And Paris.

Paris looks away from me, and I know that none of this is her idea. Sometimes I feel that I can read her. Her eyes running over every little thing, like Emily's, in control of everything, and completely lost when not in control of anything. Her world of her own meticulous construction and the intrusions reasons for her to destroy it all. But sometimes, when I am looking right at her, when I am looking her squarely in the eyes, she becomes a lead box. Those honey, hazel eyes somehow becoming impenetrable beneath her gaze. I cannot tell what she is thinking; I can only feel the tense strength of her resolve starting to break.

I imagine someday that she will like me. She would be the perfect ally in every kind of situation.

"Well, then we are expecting you at Madeline's house on Saturday at 11am,"Paris begins slowly, then quickly picks up the pace. "We will be attending a concert and some pre-concert activities. You will need to be there the whole time, and a sleepover is a possibility, Maddie just has to _find_ her parents in order to tell them."

"Yea, no problem," she chimes in, "I'll be making some phone calls after school today."

"Who's concert? And staying the night will be a hard sell, by the way." I frown unsure of the whole situation.

"Hey, we can't reveal all our secrets. Do what you can in terms of staying the night, and we'll plan everything else," Lane finishes.

"Alright," I smile.

And suddenly arms and faces and squeals and laughs are enveloping me. These girls are my friends, Lane, Madeline, Louise, and reluctantly, and Paris, and I can't be any more happy.

* * *

I am tired.

Unbelievably tired.

The _Pride and Prejudice_ test kicked my ass and I don't know how I will recover with three more periods left in the day. Although lunch had been a refreshing peace from the usually tension filled days at Chilton, it only furthered my anxiety over the test. With the girls talking, I had less time to study. With less time to study, I was a panicked mess until the last minute of the test.

Thank God for study hall.

I walk through the silent bends in the library, hoping to escape the meddlesome eyes and whispers of my peers. All day I felt as though I had been holding my breath. Having been surrounded by people, the weight of the upcoming test, and the lack of studying, I felt breathless. Now, my head is pounding and my body is begging to breathe. With a pass from the study hall monitor, I head into the most deserted depths of the Chilton library.

In the government section I close my eyes, taking a breath in through my nose. I let my body relax against a bookcase, as I let the breath fill my lungs and I hold. For a moment I feel weightless, light and finally I let the breath escape me, along with the tension that was promising to choke me only moments before.

Apparently silence is overrated.

"I hear that you are being inducted," he breathes close to my ear, making me jump from my relaxed state.

"God damn, you need a bell!" I push him away from me, in the chest, into the facing bookcase.

"Ugh," he grunts after hitting his back against the bookshelf. "Now I know never to surprise you in a library."

"Glad to know that you'll learn something today." I groan. "So is this what you've been up to lately, spying on me?"

Our interaction is tense, but a welcomed relief from the others. I have been waiting for some time alone with him for months now. I wish it could have come at a better time though.

"Spying? Me? Never."

"I'm also glad to know that you're back," I smile, and both our bodies relax.

"Back? I've always been around, what are you talking about?"

"I dunno, it's been months since the party and I haven't been able to speak to you. I've been trying to corner you, but after school you've been disappearing. Lane said you haven't been showing up to winter training. What's up with that?"

"Not here, let's not talk about this here."

He moves his face close to mine, so that I could feel his warm breath blow over my face. His eyes flicker over mine before they stretched further until they were focused on my lips. It lasts a brief moment, until I lick my lips, an automatic response from his closeness, and he leans into me.

For a moment, I allow myself to wonder what his lips feel like, pressed against mine. It isn't my first kiss, far from it, but it would be my first Chilton kiss, my first society kiss, my real initiation into this life.

And I am not ready for it.

I turn my face away, his kiss landing on the cheek that earlier had printer ink on it.

"I'm sorry," I sigh, pressing my hands against his smooth cheeks and pressing my forehead against his. "What's been going on, where have you been?"

"I'm grounded, haven't I told you?"

"But it's been forever? I mean, I've done stuff, but I've never been grounded for months."

"Well, you've also never pissed off my old man."

"They're going to think we're making out."

"Do you always care what they think about you? Every time that we've been together you've melted down about another misconception. Stop giving a fuck!"

He slams his hand on one of the wooden bookshelves and the sound echoes throughout the corridor.

"Look, I'm sorry; I've been on edge lately. Things with my dad have been shit and I've had nothing to stimulate me for months. Look, you'll be inducted this weekend, right?"

"Yea," I say looking away. "All day this Saturday. I don't know if my mom will be up for it though."

"I'll see what I can do," he says stepping away from me, rubbing the back of his neck.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'll be there to lead you through, hold your pretty little hand as you ascend into Hartford society."

"Get away from me." I push past him, heading back to my seat in study hall. "Oh, and thank you, I forgot to tell you that."

* * *

"…So talk to your mom tonight, and call me later?" Madeline smiles while checking out her reflection in the mirror in my locker.

"Yea," I frown, trying to negotiate space in my backpack for another leisure book.

"Are you ok, Rory? You've been preoccupied for hours now."

"I'm ok, just a little tired," I sigh pushing back my hair and sensing Tristan in my periphery, sensing me.

"Well, ok," says Lane. "I wish you could call me and we could talk about your shitty day, but we'll talk tomorrow?"

"It's alright," I sigh hefting my backpack over my shoulder and heading towards the front door.

As I exit the building, the khaki colored Jeep isn't sitting in its normal place with Lorelei holding the ubiquitous coffee cup. Instead, an ancient looking motorbike, still steaming from its recent use sits in its place. And sitting backwards, facing me is a figure in all black. Black boots, black jeans, black leather motorcycle jacket with a black hoodie beneath, and finally a smooth, sleek black helmet with a black tinted visor. In its black leather gloved hand is another black helmet.

"Whoa? Who's the stud?" Louise's patented drawl creeps on me.

"Rory Gilmore, get your ass on this bike!" An ominous voice lifts itself from the dark helmet.

"Who are you?"

He lifts the visor to reveal the unmistakable eyes of Jesse Mariano.

"It doesn't matter, just get on."

A smile breaks free on my face as I begin my approach and throw my backpack on the back hold. Jess makes his place in the front and puts the key in. Just before I swing my legs over the seat I whisper,

"Where's Lorelei?"

"She couldn't be here, she asked me to come and get you."

"She approved the Indian pick-up?"

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

I roll my eyes as I slide on the proffered helmet and turn to look at my friends. Everyone is standing in the courtyard watching us. Jess revs the engine and I turn and wave at Louise, Madeline, Paris and Lane, my friends.

"You ok with this?" He asks sending a few more spectacular revs.

I wrap my arms around his torso and scoot my body closer to his.

"I'm down."

And with one last glance of the stone and concrete courtyard, and once last glance at Tristan, we roll out into the cold March afternoon.

TBC…

A/N: I'm looking for some constructive criticism. Please read and respond. Have a good day, I'll update as soon as possible (hopefully no more than a month).

W/ luv,

Yo-yo


	15. Things We Said Today

Strawberry Fields

-By Yo-yo

Disclaimer: C chappie #1

A/N: The timeline in this chapter is kind of loopy. It begins in the early evening (location: Strawberry Fields), moves to the late afternoon (Luke's), goes to dinner (Luke's and Strawberry Fields) and loops back to the early evening (Strawberry Fields). In one of my reviews, someone comments that you never know where you are in my stories, so I'm giving a head's up.

Things We Said Today:

The beginning of my life was inundated with family: a mother, father and two sets of grandparents. Months after my birth, I had lost all but one. Years later, long after I had forgotten, been reunited with, lost again, and later denied their existence, He assumed their roles. Unlike my family, blood didn't bond where everything else failed. He became a family member that was chosen, a member that was wanted and needed.

We became His family, and His family became our own. He assumed the role of my father, and I assumed the role of His child. When He died, a real part of my family had been lost.

Somehow, Whiston, our first move after the funeral, had become an embodiment of that loss. It smelled wrong, it felt wrong, and in my time there, I went wrong.

The first time that she told me she would be home late, I invited Sarah Bryson to our apartment. I didn't care much for Sarah; she was only my science partner. But at the time, her home situation allowed her the freedom to come and go as she pleased.

We only watched TV and ate potato chips. We didn't laugh, we didn't share, and we didn't even talk outside of Science class. I believe we both found comfort in not pretending it was more than it was.

I have never been afraid of being alone, but since His passing, I have felt different about being _left_ alone.

I suspect that Sarah may have felt the same.

It was then that I began inviting people to our place when Lorelei was away. I don't know if she ever found out, but it may be where our problems began.

When we moved, again and again, the pattern continued. By the time we got to Colorado, I had begun to feel guilty about my sin of omission. In Colorado, I attempted to stop asking people to share their silence with mine. On those days when she was at work or running errands, I tried listening to music or watching television. I tried to mute the silence with the din of artificial presence. That only lasted until the end of the wet summer.

The insects drove me crazy.

In Colorado, and the places before, I made conscious decisions.

In Stars Hallow, it began so gradually, so organically, that I didn't even recognize my MO until a resonant croak shocked me into pulling my jacket tighter around my body, while the last winter winds chilled my exposed skin.

It began with no words at all. We saw one another around town. At first, there were glances, then nods, next smiles, and finally, gazes. It took weeks to establish each stage of acknowledgement. By the time he was able to hold my gaze, a month had passed, and we hadn't yet exchanged words.

I hadn't invited him to my house when he began tossing small rocks at my window. I never indicated that Lorelei was out, when he began showing up in the cloak of night. I never asked him to stand feet away from me, in the bushes, while leaning on the porch railing. But as we looked in each other's eyes, with only a distant porch light to help make out our gazes, I felt exhilarated.

I am not naïve.

I am not poetic.

But for months our relationship existed without a phrase, an exercise in both art and patience.

…Until he croaked my name.

"Rory?"

A chill reverberates through my core and I am suddenly aware of my surroundings. We are sitting on the back porch, out of the visual range of Babette and the other neighbors. On either side of the rusting, wrought iron patio set, we sit in silence, perhaps mimicking ghosts from summers past, when the Gilmore's still frequented this property. We've been meeting here for weeks. It is the safest place to spend hours as we do. I have been peering into his warm, open brown eyes for what seems like hours, with him doing the same to me. As we indulge in one another's silence, bask in the other's attention, it had never occurred to me how deafening his whisper could be.

"Rory?"

And suddenly, I am in the living room with Sarah Bryson. I am in the bathroom with Maritza Ortiz. I am sitting on the stairs with Zander Cain. I am in the closet with Mark Fraiser.

Flashbacks of every experience I have had in this same situation, in different locales, made me aware of how cold my seat felt, molding into the metalwork.

"Dean?" I whisper.

"I just thought it was time."

"Time?"

A smile bursts forth on his face,

"Time to say hi," he lets out a warm, deep comforting chuckle.

"Hi." I offer, unsure of how to proceed, even with his encouraging smile.

He doesn't say anything at first, only looks at me with a curious glint in his eyes. Then, after a moment, he leans over the table and asks,

"So, what are we doing here?"

It is the first time I have been asked that question.

* * *

Jess kills the engine to his bike and removes his helmet.

I am a knot of tension as I slide off the back. It was my first ride on a motorcycle, and although Jess is not a bad driver, the feeling of instability akin to your first bicycle attempt, along with a speed unachievable by human power, coupled with the inability to steer oneself as I ride bitch and the knowledge that nothing stood between me and the asphalt, stiffened my muscles and made the ride back less than enjoyable. I spent most of the time with my eyes closed and my head tilted down. Avoiding both looking at the ground and calculating our velocity.

It takes me much longer to disengage from the helmet than putting it on in the courtyard. But once I escape the dark casing a giggle bubbles up from the depth of my churning belly. I must have looked so cool to all of those students; jamming the helmet on my head and getting on the back of a motorcycle as though it was as natural to me as snobbery was to them. Our escape must have been discussed by the student body, my nickname 'Mary' being challenged in the halls.

As I follow Jess into the diner, I maintain a wide grin, despite my taut stomach. I'm rarely around long enough to be a subject of gossip in the halls. But at Chilton, a place I've deemed hell, I have attained another teenage milestone, and in a pretty badass way!

When I take my seat at the counter, Jess returns my smile.

"What's got you looking like the cat that got the canary?"

"I'm just remembering their faces as we pulled away."

He grins, "Yea, that was a bitchin' way to leave school."

"Thank you." I brush back my hair, unsure if the helmet has left it sticking up in a weird way.

He leans in close to me, a conspiring smirk on his lips,

"Now we won't tell our guardians the manner by which we escaped tartan hell, will we?"

My smile grows larger, "You helped me take the bus home from Hartford. What number bus is it anyway?"

"You're good," he grins, "offering details add layers of authenticity to every falsehood. I have a feeling this isn't your first time misguiding the 'rents?"

Jess is my only friend in Stars Hallow. And I am still unable to let him know how right he is.

"Ok, I think it's the number 8 bus." He resigned when I look away from him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see someone tall, looming, making his way toward the diner. On the days he didn't have to be at the market, he followed this routine.

He would enter the diner, move directly to the register and order the same thing.

"Ham and cheese."

Jess would scowl.

They dislike one another, Jess tells me. They both go to Stars Hallow High, and hang out in very different crowds. While Jess sits in the back, smokes cigarettes and regularly doesn't make it to class, Dean sits in the middle, always surrounded by his group, and is the praised in the halls as part of the hockey team.

"He's such a lumbering, boring piece of shit," Jess whispers in my direction, after having given Dean his change and pulling out a towel to wipe the counter.

I have no opinion and have yet to give input.

He would either wait in the seat next to the door with a glass of water if he prepared to eat in. Or, on the days that he choose to take his sandwich to go, he would wait outside on the bench near the door. I don't know if this was always the case; for the last three months it has been his MO.

This quotidian occurrence was how it all began. After school Lore and I would stop at Luke's before we head home. On the days when Lore was away, I would be alone, and that's when we began to sneak glances, trade nods, dare smiles and finally, avoid gazes, until he could get me alone, after I left Jess's possessive presence.

In front of Jess, Luke and Lorelei, we are strangers.

On my porch, we are…

* * *

I am racing through the streets, trying to get back to the diner in time. Dean time ran into homework time which ran into dinner time with Lorelei.

"When you went to Chilton, were you ever part of a club?" I open the diner door, and fling myself into the seat opposite Lorelei.

I indicate to Jess I am ready to order; I am famished.

"Hey!" Lorelei protests as I grab her mug and take a gulp of her coffee. She is reading a newspaper, unable to see me, yet, like a true addict, she can sense when her reserves are threatened. "What kind of club?"

"Yea, what kind of club?" Jess sinks into the seat between us, a pad and pencil in hand.

"Like a social club. Where you get together, share ideas, meet… extracurricular-ly?" I try.

"Like the Young Republicans?" Lorelei asks over her newspaper, I can tell she's not really paying attention.

"Young Republicans, why Rory, I didn't see you as the Ann Coulter type?" Jess grins.

"No…" I strive for the words, "Yea, kind of like the Young Republicans. But not like them at all."

"Why are you thinking of joining the Young Republicans?" She asks me.

"Well, not the Young Republicans, per se…" I reply.

"…You'd have to wear pearls all the time," she continues, "dye your hair blonde, maybe even sport a skirt suit once a week? The hassle is tremendous just to piss a few people off."

"You say few because we're talking about Chilton, right?" Jess questions.

"Back to the topic of club," I attempt again, "and let's forget the Young Republicans."

"Forget the Young Republicans? That's what all you liberals would do, wouldn't you!" Jess shouts, slamming the Formica with his hand.

"What are you saying, you're thinking of joining a club?" Lorelei glances at me from the top of her newspaper.

"Are you guys even going to order?" Jess begins to get annoyed.

"Mac and cheese dinner." She says.

"Back to the club idea. I am not thinking of joining a club, but a club would like to induct me."

"The club asked you to join?" I can hear the frown in her voice.

"Yea, that's weird." Jess agrees.

"And they wanted to do the induction this Friday after school."

"What club is this?" Lorelei puts down her newspaper.

"It's not… whoa!" I gasp.

When she'd dropped me off at Chilton this morning, she'd been wearing a business casual outfit. But between dropping me off and meeting me for dinner, she'd changed. Instead of the pencil skirt, v-neck shirt and cotton cardigan, she'd changed into grey slacks, a blue button-up and a matching grey blazer. Her long hair had been tucked into a simple chignon and her ears had pearls in them.

"That's exactly what I said," Jess grins. "Now, what'll it be?"

"Take a leaf out of Lorelei's book and surprise me." I frown, still looking at my mother. "When did you change? Why did you change? Did you get a job?"

We've been in Stars Hallow for three months now. In all that time, she's been going on interviews, perusing craigslist, travelling to companies, trying to get hired. But rarely has she had a wardrobe change in her pursuit for employment.

She rolls her eyes and folds away her newspaper. "What kind of club is this?"

I can hear the distaste and I know I need to come clean.

"Apparently, the group that I hang out with is its own little club. They study together, hang out together, I'm assuming it's kind of like a mixed society, a 'die Geschwisterschaft'?"

"Huh?" they both frown.

"I guess like siblinghood? Instead of a fraternity, or a sorority, it's like a siblinghood. There's no Latin word for sibling, so I reverted to German."

"At least we know that school is teaching you something." She frowns, "What does induction into 'Das Experiment' require? What does it mean?"

"That they're my friends and that I can hang out with them." I look away, knowing that she isn't convinced. "They're good kids. Even grandma vouched for them that one time! They're smart and funny and they like me. I'd have allies at that place!"

"Look, we'll talk about this at home." She sighs.

I nod.

"And this is my time to put in the orders!" Jess jumps up, rushing to Caesar.

"This outfit?" I finally ask, not allowing her to put off her news.

"I had an unexpected meeting today in Hartford."

"In Hartford? Was it a job?"

"It's complicated."

"So you were in Hartford, but couldn't pick me up from home. That reminds me," I remember the phone call that took me from Dean, "Grandma called."

"What'd the old battleaxe want?" She groans, taking a sip from her coffee mug.

"She said she's been getting an ominous phone call from a lawyer in Georgia. She wanted to ask if you knew anything about it?"

"Phillipa," she nods, looking away from me as she finishes her coffee.

"Phillipa?"

The tension that had twisted my belly on the motorcycle returns.

I haven't heard that name in a long time.

"Not here," she whispers indicating Jess.

"Jess," I stand up and follow him, "Can you make those orders to go?"

"Yea, what's up? You guys aren't going to stay?"

"I have some studying to do, I told Lorelei I was going to grab a sandwich and eat in my room."

"Alright. You want some company?"

"Tomorrow night, I promise." I smile.

I think I have become his best friend in Stars Hallow.

* * *

"It looks like we both have some 'splainin' to do?"

"Phillipa? She was here?"

Our words expel at the same time and fight for priority, but wind up unintelligible as they scatter amongst the bags we'd just settled on the kitchen table.

"A second time…" Lorelei repeats, "So it looks like we both have some 'splainin' to do."

I unwind my scarf from around my neck and toss it through the doorway into my bedroom.

"Where should we begin?" I frown, pulling off my coat as well.

Phillipa was His mother. A grandmother of sorts; she and Lorelei fought at the funeral.

"I think it would be easier to begin with this pseudo, co-ed club of yours. What the hell?"

Her shout pushes me into a seat; her outburst renders me speechless.

"Why would you ask a question like that in front of Jess? Why would you phrase your argument like that, making me out to be this mean bitch of a lady that won't let you have friends? I didn't do anything wrong. Why are you even joining a club…?"

I have no response to her diatribe.

"…I mean, you don't join clubs! Is this even a legit club? You can put it on your college resume and bring it up in conversations? You haven't wanted to do something like this since you were a child. And you certainly don't need help making friends… I remember that!"

"That's not fair, Lorelei!" I shout back. "I'm trying, ok! You bring me here, I didn't even ask. You make me go to this school; I didn't even have a choice. And then, when the only way for me to make friends that don't require me to have a trust fund is to join their own informal club, you bring up the past! You make it seem as though I have some agenda against you."

"And it's not fair of you to ask that of me!" She finally looks at me.

"Lorelei, I'm only trying to create some semblance of a teenage experience! I've never had this before. Do you know about Lane? She's like my best friend. She loves the same music. She has boyfriend that her parents would love, so she keeps him a secret, so he's all hers. And Paris **hates** me, but she relented enough to let me be a part of the group. And they make great friends. All I want are friends."

She watches me as the tears streak down my cheeks. I hope she sees the sincerity in my release.

"What about the boys?"

"I don't care much for the boys. There are only two of them that are at all worth mentioning. Jason is a sweetheart and Tristan, you've met him."

"The guy who's car you slept in?"

"Yea, grandma likes him. She invited him to that party she held."

"I'm sorry. I don't trust this, Rory. I get it's unfair of me to do this, but you know where I'm coming from. Is there some way we can compromise? Have them come here first?"

"I can ask," I frown. "I'll talk to them tomorrow."

She nods her head, an apologetic look in her eyes,

"I know you're trying."

"I know you are, too." I push my hair behind my ears. "So, Phillipa was in Hartford? How long is she here? Can I see her?"

We've come to her admission, and a frown etches itself in her features.

"She's gone. She was only here for the meeting."

"When did she call? How did you get in contact with her? Is she angry at me? Is she still mad at you?"

"She's giving us His life insurance money. Apparently, He'd left us a lot of money."

"It's been a year and a half."

"She's been struggling morally, about whether she should follow His instructions and forgive me. Plus, she had some trouble tracking us down."

"Hence, calling the Gilmores?"

"Exactly."

"How did she look? I miss her."

"I told her. She only smiled and gave me this."

She opens her purse and pulls out an envelope. Unlike the checks to no one, this envelope had my name, Lorelei's name, written in silver script on a heavy piece of TARDIS blue stationary paper. In my hand, the envelope felt more like a package, heavy stationary, encased in heavy stationary, weighed down by the heavy ink that signifies my property.

"She never did scrimp on presentation." I smile, looking at the letters that could only have been written by her hand.

"Hence, her doing this in person." Lorelei smiles again, finally sitting at a seat in the paper.

"You're forgiven? Can I call her?"

"It would seem, but I would read the letter before I make any assumptions, if I were you."

"Later."

I am not yet ready to go back to where we'd left Him.

"Half of the money is yours. It's been put in a trust. You have no access to it until you're 25. It means that we can't use it for Chilton or Harvard-"

"But I will be able to pay them back for it!"

"I thought it would be best to use my half for Chilton."

"No!"

She ignores my interjection and keeps speaking,

"This way I won't have to owe my parents."

"But it's your money! I can worry about owing them for my own education. Especially when I now have the funds to pay them back."

"I don't want to be beholden to them for the next 3 years!"

"And I don't want to be beholden to you, until I'm 25. Use the money to make roots here, Lorelei. We've been talking forever about what we'd do once we've found a home; a place to settle."

"Those were just dreams of gypsies."

"It's time to put them into action. We're not running anymore, I hope. I think it's time for action."

"You're a child, you don't understand…"

"Don't think I can't recognize when you behave like a child." I shoot back, anger overtaking my need to comfort.

"Wow!"

"In these three months, I believed you. I believed in you. I went with you and thought we were finally moving on. But the things we said today just remind me that you're running scared. So scared that you can't see a future, and bringing me back to the past with you."

"Well tell me how you really feel, Rory!" She argues back.

"'Sarcasm is the last refuge of modest and chaste-souled people when the privacy of their soul is coarsely and intrusively invaded.' A quote from Dostoevsky." And with that, I take my food to my room and slam the door.

* * *

"So, what are we doing here?"

The deepness of his voice sounds husky, as he slowly reclaims his ability to speak.

I know what he thinks of me as the languid smile returns to his face. He finds it charming that my eyes grow large at the sudden sound of his voice. He finds me thoroughly old fashioned because I have yet to invite him into my house. He thinks me completely innocent as I have yet to initiate any form of physical contact.

He finds me virginal and refreshing.

I can't reveal that I am experienced, yet reluctant.

"I don't know."

I admit finally, looking away from him.

"Do you like what we've been doing? Do you want to continue this?"

I nod.

"In this capacity? By hiding behind houses, sneaking around in the bushes, glances and smiles while no one notices?"

I frown but nod, reluctantly, afraid he'll misunderstand.

"Can I ask why?"

"My mom won't like it."

I tell the truth.

"She doesn't seem as though she'd get upset. You're fifteen. She likes me. She likes you…"

"I'm her only daughter. She had me when she was sixteen… I'm nearly sixteen. I don't know if it's a good time to bring home a boy."

I lie.

He takes my lie as truth and nods.

"I wish I could take you out. I wish I could kiss you."

"All in due time…" I offer a promise.

"For now, can we at least talk?"

I smile and open my lips to answer when a phone rings inside.

"We can begin tomorrow. I have to get that. It might be my mom."

He nods,

"Bye Rory."

"Bye Dean."

TBC…

A/N: I hope you liked it. A lot of stuff happened, a lot got revealed, and no Trory action happened today. Sorry!


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